The Hours
by sienna27
Summary: Universe A: Story 2 of 3 - Sequel to Falling in Love with a Girl. We're now off canon, following H/P as they settle into couplehood and deal with Emily's illness. Happy ending story.
1. Evidence of Things Not Seen

**Author's Note:** FINALLY, yes, the repost begins! Real Life did delay this a bit, but not too bad, I said sometime in June and it's barely the 4th. You all know I've been WAY tardier than four days!

If you're new here, this is the second story in the main Girl'verse. I'd really suggest going over and reading _Falling in Love With a Girl_ first because this one picks up just three days after that one ends and we're walking into a new situation.

Now everyone that has already read _Girl_ knows that in this story Emily is diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. However, as I've said before this is NOT a sad, maudlin story. It's the same H/P you know from _Girl_, and I promise, SHE LIVES! As I tell people, if you start to get a little antsy about that (there are a few more dramatic chapters in here) you can always skip ahead to the third story, _Life & Such_, and you'll see that she's just fine :)

This story overall is about Hotch and Emily settling into full blown couplehood with her illness as a backdrop. Her cancer is not the focal point of this story, as in _Girl_, the focal point is their relationship. And here, rather than the initial bond forming and them falling in love, it's now them solidifying their commitment and building on their little family unit.

All that said, the opener is heavy on the illness, but we had to get up to speed on Em's situation and what needs to be done about said situation, and there wasn't really any way to do that without discussing it.

We're opening here with Hotch, it's early Tuesday morning. Two days post The Talk in the hospital.

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_Mid-December: Tuesday_

**Evidence of Things Not Seen**

Hotch stared up at the ceiling of Emily's bedroom. Though he hadn't looked at the clock recently he knew that it had to be close to six.

He'd been awake since two fifty-three.

He'd had a horrible nightmare . . . the Great Falls one again . . . and he'd woken up with a jerk, terrified that Emily was already lost to him. But of course that was just his subconscious torturing him, because his girl was still sleeping safe and sound in his arms.

Though she had started to stir at his movement . . . and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her rest . . . so he'd stifled his panic as much as possible as he began rubbing small circles on her back.

His hand only stilling once he was sure that she was fully out again.

With her diagnosis on Sunday . . . he took a breath . . . the brain tumor, all he could think about was what was best for her health. And she'd exerted herself tonight so he wanted to make sure that she had a solid night's sleep to keep up her strength.

The exertion had been for a good cause though . . . his expression softened as he thought back to earlier in the night . . . they'd made love for the first time.

Of course . . . his fingers stroked along the curve of her hip . . . making love to Emily was just as amazing as he'd imagined it would be. More so perhaps given their bitter reminder yet again of how very fragile life was.

So he had absolutely no regrets about waiting as long as they had. In fact even initially last night he'd tried to tell her that they should wait a couple more days until her bruises had healed and she wasn't so sore from her accident.

Seeing those horrible marks on her body made his stomach hurt.

At the time he'd made his plea to wait they'd been standing in the middle of her living room, having just finished reading over the doctor's literature on her biopsy. When he'd finished speaking Emily had taken his hand as she shook her head, a sad smile touching her lips. Then her eyes had started to well up as she told him that they had waited long enough, that she was as well today as she was going to be for some time, and that she wasn't going to waste any of her days putting off things that would make her happy. Then she'd kissed him before whispering against his lips that nothing in the world would make her happier than to be with him.

Though it broke his heart to consider even the _possibility_ of her days running out before his, Hotch knew that she was right. If they now had a ticking clock, they needed to stop putting things aside and waiting for just the right time.

The time was now.

So he'd temporarily pushed aside all of his new-found fears as he simultaneously brushed aside the tears slipping down her beautiful face. Then he'd scooped her up off the living room carpet and carried her up to bed.

Even though Emily was insistent that she was okay, he was still as gentle as he could be. After everything that had already happened that weekend, he had been so afraid of hurting her.

The shadow had shown up on the MRI Sunday night. That was the MRI necessitated after her second fall in almost as many days. Her poor body was completely bruised and battered.

The shadow though . . . his jaw twitched . . . that wasn't a trauma that he could see, but it was the one that was doing all the damage. So that was the one that they needed to focus on. And by focus on, the doctor said that they were going to need to do a biopsy.

Through her nose.

Her nose.

That sounded absolutely horrible to Hotch, but he knew that the alternative was cracking open her skull. So by comparison this procedure was definitely the lesser of the two evils.

Either way though . . . Hotch's eyes began to burn as he pressed his lips to her temple . . . he was absolutely terrified that he was going to lose her.

But . . . he tried to blink away the moisture as one tear slipped down his cheek . . . the biopsy had to be done, and it had to be done today. They still didn't know if the mass was malignant, and they wouldn't know that until they got a piece of it out to test.

And even if it wasn't . . . his thoughts stuttered for a moment . . . cancer . . . he wiped his hand across his face . . . it was already causing pressure on her brain so there was no doubt that radiation would be required.

Radiation was treatment though . . . he reminded himself . . . and they weren't on treatment yet. They still needed to get through the biopsy before he even started to think about what came after.

Though Hotch just wanted this thing out of her, Emily told him that she was actually grateful for having this forty eight hour delay between the MRI and the biopsy. Now she knew for sure that it was a tumor . . . that was one thing . . . and she was mentally preparing herself for the possibility of malignancy.

Cancer.

And cancer was another thing entirely.

Hotch was also trying to prepare himself for the C word. But whenever he thought about it too much he'd start to go into a blind panic. So he'd decided it was best to just keep the idea on the periphery and accept what came when it came.

The good news though . . . as far as the term applied to situations where there was a foreign invader in his girlfriend's brain . . . was that the mass was still quite small. And Emily's new neurologist . . . Dr. Hsu . . . had said that it was in a "good" location.

So whatever else was going on in there, she said those two things were factors in Emily's favor.

As was her otherwise general good health.

She was also young, strong, mentally stable and she had an emotional support system. So Dr. Hsu said that she was optimistic that this was a very "manageable" situation.

Hotch knew that was doctor talk for "it could be much worse" so he had to just keep telling himself all of the positives about this situation and not the negatives.

The biggest negative of course being that she could lose control of her mental faculties and he'd have to watch the woman he loved die a slow, painful death.

Not helpful Aaron . . . he berated himself . . . focus on the positives.

Okay . . . he took a breath . . . positives. Well, another positive was that they had access to excellent hospitals here in DC. But of course if they were told that the resident expert on whatever was wrong with her was halfway around the world, then Hotch had money put aside and insurance policies that he could cash out.

If it came down to flying Emily off to Sweden or Quebec or Australia to get her what she needed, then that's where they'd go. Cost was not going to be even a minuscule factor in her treatment. Whatever they said that she needed, she was getting it.

If it came down to just dollars and cents . . . his eyes began to burn again as he cradled her closer to his chest . . . then his girl would live forever.

Knowing that he was again allowing himself to think too much about a situation that still had so many unknowns . . . a new occupational hazard for him . . . Hotch blinked away this batch of tears as he swallowed over the lump forming in his throat. Then his gaze began to follow the shadows creeping across the room.

The sun was coming up, and that meant that they were going to have to get up soon too.

It was hard to believe but it was a work day. And for the first few hours of the day, he had to go into the office and pretend to focus on things that . . . at this moment . . . he really didn't give a shit about at all.

He knew that was horrible . . . their work was so important . . . but as soon as he'd heard that her biopsy had been scheduled for today he'd had that momentary flicker in his brain as he unconsciously took note of the fact that it was the middle of the work week. In essence . . . for just a split second . . . he had the chance to choose between the job that he loved and the woman that he adored.

There had been no contest.

That had been both a moment of relief and a moment of shame for him. Because he was left briefly wondering why he couldn't give up this job for Haley, but the second he'd found out that Emily was sick, he'd have gladly quit without a second thought if that's what she'd asked him to do.

He'd like to believe that he'd have had the same instinctive reaction if Haley had been struck ill, but . . . he felt a stab of shame . . . he honestly didn't know for sure what he would have done.

And that really bothered him.

It bothered him even though he knew it was a theoretical scenario that was now never going to even be posed. But unfortunately the fact that he'd barely slept for the past two nights had given him too many hours to fill, and all of that time was left for him to think about all of the what ifs in his life.

But he needed to stop doing that.

He took a breath . . . he needed to just focus on Emily and what she needed right now. The rest of it was all just pointless worrying for worrying's sake.

And right now . . . he watched the sun begin to peek around the curtains . . . he needed to think about waking Emily up.

Her procedure wasn't until this afternoon, but she was insistent about going into work this morning. Of course he wanted her to stay home and rest, but again, she pointed out that she was as well as she was going to be for awhile and that she wasn't going to sit around the house by herself moping in the meantime.

Not when there were things to be done.

She was definitely dealing with this whole situation a hell of a lot better than he was. If it was up to him not only would she be staying home, but he'd have her secured in bubble wrap and locked up behind bullet proof glass.

Not that he felt that was a practical approach to dealing with life in general, but given that Emily's body was already attacking her from the inside, Hotch wanted to make damn sure that nothing attacked her from the outside. He'd even half heartedly made his bubble wrap joke to her as a way of not so subtly raising his worries about what could happen. She'd just given him a sad smile before she squeezed his hand and told him that she loved him and that it would be okay.

And that was the end of the discussion.

So they were both going in to work today but they still hadn't decided what they were going to tell the team. They of course wanted to wait until they had more news . . . cancer or no cancer was a big question mark . . . so there wouldn't be a sit down with them today.

They were going to discuss it further tonight.

Eventually of course they would have to know, at some point she was going to have to go on leave. Actually he would as well.

It's not like he wasn't going to be taking care of her.

As it was he was sure that he'd probably get some raised eyebrows simply for the time off he was taking this week. Emily hadn't been discharged until almost two yesterday so he'd called them both out for the whole day under the pretext of her needing a ride to the doctor after taking another spill over the weekend.

He hadn't yet decided what excuse he was going to use for leaving today.

Perhaps just the truth again, Emily had a follow up doctor's appointment, she couldn't drive on her pain medication and she needed a ride.

He sighed . . . yeah, the truth probably would be best. Because he really didn't want to lie to anyone if he didn't have to. Not only just on principle . . . these were his friends and colleagues after all . . . but also, you lie too much and you end up tripping yourself up.

That was especially a problem when you're lying to a group of behavioralists.

So regardless of what they decided to tell the team . . . short term and long term . . . it needed to be simple.

Well . . . Hotch leaned over to turn off the alarm before it started beeping . . . he and Emily could talk more about it later.

One thing at a time.

And right now . . . he yawned into his shoulder . . . all they had to do was get out of bed.

He leaned down to press his lips to her ear.

"Sweetheart, it's time to wake up."

/*/*/*/*/*/*

Emily looked up from her pamphlet to see that there was flour on the tip of Hotch's nose. It was one of the few times in her life that she could recall him being even slightly disheveled.

"Everything going okay over there honey?" She asked with a slight twitch of her lip.

Hotch looked up from the griddle, a hint of a smile touching his lips as he wiped the back of his hand across his cheek.

"Yeah," his eyes crinkled slightly, "just a few more minutes and they'll be done."

She huffed to herself . . . and now he had flour on the side of his face too.

Emily slipped her phone off her belt to surreptitiously click a quick picture.

'_Jack would enjoy that one,_' she thought to herself as she gave Hotch a little smile.

"Okay, just let me know if you need me to do anything."

It was the third time she'd made this offer to him and just like the first two times he simply harrumphed at her and looked away.

Translation = Not happening.

And the thing that wasn't happening was that she wasn't allowed to help him make her pancakes. It was his grandmother's special recipe that he'd asked his mother to email him last night.

So while he was doing that . . . and insisting that she do absolutely nothing at all . . . Emily was sitting at the breakfast bar again reading over the literature her neurologist had given her before she left the hospital yesterday.

Though she tried to be discreet about it, she couldn't stop the occasional glance into the kitchen to see how things were progressing. For one thing, she always liked to watch Hotch cook, but for another . . . even though it was a work day and they needed to get going . . . he was putting himself through the ringer for her right now. And that was just so sweet.

There were dirty measuring cups on the counter, the hand mixer was in the sink, and he'd been in such a hurry when he first started that he'd dropped an egg on the floor.

Of course he'd refused to let her help him clean that up either.

As soon as she'd made a move to get the paper towel he'd caught her hand, kissed her cheek and guided her back to the chair. Then he'd told her to sit tight and he'd take care of everything. She'd rolled her eyes good naturedly but had still acquiesced without argument.

She knew that he really needed to do this for her.

This afternoon they were going in for her biopsy and she knew that he was terrified of the outcome. Of course she was too, but he was a Type A, alpha dog, control freak who had just been plunged into a situation completely beyond his control or expertise.

In that respect her diagnosis was probably even harder for him to accept than it was for her. So he was trying . . . in his sweet inimitable Hotch way . . . to find some way to cope with this hell that they'd been plunged into.

Which was how they had arrived at these special pancakes.

Even though he couldn't tell her that she was just fine, that the tumor was benign and that there was no cancer . . . he could do this.

It was something special . . . something tangible . . . her eyes started to get moist as she watched him across the room . . . it was a way for him to show her how important she was to him.

Not that she had any doubts at all about his feelings for her . . . long before he'd actually said the words she'd known that he loved her . . . but over the last two days especially she was starting to understand just how _much_ he loved her.

Though they had yet to take any vows promising to stay together through sickness and in health, he clearly was approaching this situation as though they had. He'd been her Siamese twin since he'd arrived in her hospital room two days ago.

Yesterday she'd woken up in the hospital bed with him curled around her like a pretzel. And then this morning, they were back in her bed again and . . . a little smile touched her lips . . . their bare legs were tangled together. She'd been sore both from her two falls and from making love . . . it had been a long time . . . but that hadn't diminished her happiness at finally being with him.

Of course that happiness had been notably tempered by her diagnosis and the fear of what the additional tests would show. It really had been a hell of a week so far.

Though she'd suspected that the tumor was a distinct possibility, but nothing really prepared you for the reality of hearing the words spoken aloud by a person who five minutes earlier had been a complete stranger. And now this person was telling you that she wanted to poke something up your nose and take out a piece of your brain. Well, perhaps not exactly her brain . . . but damn close enough.

Surreal didn't even begin to cover it.

But Hotch had been just unbelievable through the whole thing. When the shock of her diagnosis had worn off and she'd started to shut down and disengage from the conversation . . . at the ten minute mark she was just trying to keep from bursting into tears . . . he'd simply squeezed her hand and finished asking all of the questions that needed to be asked.

Then after the doctor finally left them, he'd climbed up into the bed with her again and held her while she cried. And over and over he told her that he loved her and that everything was going to be all right. That the doctor said that she had a lot of things in her favor and that she just had to keep a positive attitude. That they both knew that the only way to get through the hard stuff was simply to believe that you could.

And then he said that she was the strongest person that he knew and that she would beat this.

As he'd whispered those words of love and encouragement to her over and over again, she started to once more get those little snippets from her earlier dream back.

They were pictures from a happily ever after future that she wanted so badly that she could taste it.

Slowly her tears had begun to taper off and then they disappeared completely. And again when she fell asleep in his arms, she saw that perfect little baby with the perfect little dimples just like his daddy.

And that dream was all thanks to him.

He'd been her rock, completely unflappable Hotch face firmly intact.

But then early yesterday she'd been in the hospital bathroom brushing her teeth when she'd heard him call Dave from the other room. Hotch told him that the team was off rotation through at least early January. That they were backed up on consults and he wanted to start the new year fresh. And then he'd added on . . . almost like an afterthought . . . oh, by the way, Emily tripped again on the damn boots, this time she'd ended up needing stitches in her forehead and that she couldn't drive on her pain medicine so he was giving her a ride to the doctor for a follow-up.

Neither of them would be in that day.

His voice hadn't wavered once through the whole thing. And she'd stood in the bathroom doorway watching him as he told Dave he'd give her his best right before he'd hung up the phone.

When he looked up their eyes had caught and she could see the tears glistening.

Her heart began to ache as her own eyes had started to water . . . his unflappable Hotch face had slipped and she could see that he was in terrible pain.

Pain that he'd been hiding to stay strong for her.

She'd crossed the room to tuck her head under his chin, and he had wrapped himself around her, his voice cracking as he whispered that he was "all in, no matter what happens." Then he'd sniffed, wiped his face and told her that when they got home he wanted to make her pancakes. Was that okay?

She had smiled into his chest as she told him that was just fine with her.

And as she looked over at him now with the flour smeared on his face, and his tie flipped back over his shoulder, she felt a burst of love for him.

Though she was of course distressed about her diagnosis, overall she felt that she was handling things pretty well. Or at least as well as could be expected under the circumstances, she'd cried but she hadn't gone completely hysterical. But the lack of hysteria was due to this man's continuous physical presence.

He hadn't left her side once.

And if she hadn't had him with her over the past few days then she'd most likely be a total basket case right now. Scratch that . . . there was no doubt . . . without him she would ABSOLUTELY be a total basket case right now.

But with him as her touchstone . . . that physical reminder of the happily ever after plans that she had for the future . . . it hadn't taken long for her to successfully push "Panic" into the box marked "Unproductive Emotions."

It served no purpose.

The bottom line was that they were together last week, they were together now and they would stay together for the foreseeable future. Her diagnosis didn't change that fact.

They were in love.

And if this tumor was malignant, if she did have . . . she swallowed . . . cancer, well that wasn't going to change anything either. People all over the world lived with cancer every day. They fought it and they beat it and they were still were able to mine joy out of life in the process. And if God forbid that was her diagnosis, then that would be her attitude as well.

Their attitude . . . she corrected as she thought back on Hotch's words.

All in.

Well, she was too. They would simply live their lives as they had been before. Granted they were under a great deal more stress now, but this situation had given her an even greater appreciation for how lucky she was to have fallen for such a wonderful man.

His love was not something that she would ever take for granted.

"Honey, I don't want to tell the team," she suddenly blurted out.

The utterance came as a surprise to her as well as him. They hadn't decided yet what they were going to tell anyone . . . they were going to discuss it tonight . . . but suddenly she just knew.

She didn't want to tell them anything.

Hotch was just sliding their breakfast off the griddle and onto the plate, and he paused with one chocolate chip pancake half out of the cast iron to look up at her quizzically.

"I didn't think that we were planning on doing it today. Didn't you want to figure out your treatment and then we could talk about a time table on bringing them into the fold?"

That was his recollection of what she'd said.

Emily had been nodding her head at his response and then she cut in.

"Yes, you're right that's what I was hoping to do about the bigger uh . . ." she stumbled for a word, "situation. But I don't want to tell them about us yet either. We're going to be keeping something bad from them, and well," she took a breath, "for now, I'd like to have something good that's just ours too. It kind of evens the scales." She tipped her head to the side.

"Does that make sense?"

Though their relationship was going to eventually have to come out, for now . . . to her . . . it seemed like a karmic evening of the scales to keep it as just theirs alone.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he looked back at her . . . he loved following along the winding path of Emily reasoning.

"It does to me sweetheart," he said softly, "we'll wait on all of it until you're ready."

Seeing her relieved smile, Hotch moved quickly to distract her from these heavy thoughts by focusing on more mundane matters.

"So," he said brightly while slipping the dangling flapjack onto the plate, "are you ready to try Grandma Charlotte's World Famous Chocolate Chip Pancakes?"

Grandma Charlotte was his mother's mother, and this was his favorite breakfast when he was a boy and his parents would send him to visit his grandparents in South Carolina.

They did that when his father's depression would creep up and the drinking began to get bad.

And though he'd eaten countless plates of these pancakes when he was a child, Hotch had actually never before made them himself. Haley wasn't a big fan of pancakes, so he'd never had occasion to make them for his ex-wife. Which was why he'd really wanted to make them today for Emily.

They were something special in his family, and they were for Emily alone.

But of course she was his family now too.

Emily looked down at the platter of perfectly shaped silver dollar pancakes, and then back up to see Hotch looking at her expectantly.

She smiled at him as she leaned over the counter top to wipe the flour from the tip of his nose. Then she gave him a kiss, shaking her head as she pulled back with a pat to his cheek.

"Silly man, when am I not hungry?"

Seeing one of his dimples slide out Emily winked back before she picked up her fork.

Yep . . . she watched him slide half of the pancakes onto her plate . . . as long as she had him with her, then all the rest of it would fall into place.

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_A/N (this is a long one): _

_And we're up and running AGAIN! __This chapter was transitional, necessary to move things forward and set the tone for this segment of their lives. If you read this story the first time around you might occasionally glimpse the skeleton of those original chapters in what's going up now. But for the most part, even the scenes that have been covered before have been majorly fleshed out and have so much padding on them that you have to kind of squint to see what was there originally. Those of you who discovered me much later will perhaps find it amusing that my main "complaint" from my original readers was that my chapters were too short :) Given that I now regularly top out at 8 or 9k words per chapter, clearly I've at least conquered that short coming ;)_

_Unlike with the original posting of this story, before I started working on the "redux" I gave myself a little crash course on brain tumors, biopsies and methods of treatment. Granted my ninety minutes of intensive Reid'esque focus on this topic hasn't perhaps left me qualified to get a passing MCAS score, but I did at least feel confident enough to move forward again with posting this story. I have much knowledge of real cancer, but not this particular type, and God willing that's how it shall remain. So for all of my general efforts at making Fake Life as real as possible, here we're fudging a bit more than I usually do. As I said in the beginning (as in the beginning of time) this is "soap opera cancer" as in you must suspend some medical disbelief for the few spots where I brush over her illness more directly (which I avoid doing too often). The reality is that in all likelihood Emily would have to have a major brain surgery to resect the tumor before they moved on to additional treatments. But remember that when I originally wrote this story, I had NO idea that I was actually becoming a "writer" and that this was going to be a 'real' world that all of you nice people actually enjoy visiting with me. And I didn't want to lose the focus of that original story, which (rough spots and all) I thought came out pretty well given that I didn't have the first clue what the hell I was doing back then. _

_And the focus of that original Hours, which we all liked, was simply them living their lives as a regular couple with her illness as a backdrop. And in that version, they did keep things from the team for awhile. But on the repost if I'd gone through all of the grueling trauma of actual real life treatment that would have made the cancer the focal point of the story, and that would have made this a totally different tale. It also would have been impossible to keep things from their colleagues so I would have lost like a half dozen chapters completely. So instead I fudged around the medical facts here. Yes, it's true that you can actually have a brain biopsy done through your nose, BUT, obviously they can only get to certain locations from that approach. And from what I could find, those types of brain tumors are generally more serious (as beyond just the norm of having a tumor in your head), often have a higher mortality rate, and traditionally are found in populations of different ethnic descents than Emily. Yes, I really did do more than just go to wickipedia! So regardless of those points of inconsistency, for purposes of our little Fake Life story, I decided that this is the type of biopsy I'd give her so that we can quickly get her diagnosed through an out patient process and they can move on to treatment. _

_Credit to Arc for reminding me of the nose biopsy as a means around the full blown brain surgery. I was getting depressed thinking about points I had to fix here and I was convinced I'd have to write this whole upsetting subplot with actual surgery and real complications following up the real surgery (4 weeks at least would have had to been devoted to recuperation) to give the story a bit more depth than it had the first time. But this way works better, it still adds in a note of realism (to a degree) that wasn't fleshed out in the first version, and is honestly less depressing overall than going the other route. _

_And again, given that I'm not making her illness a front and center plot point, we're going to skip ahead a little so we won't be with them at her initial doctors' appointments. It's still only mid-December, so we'll pick up with them in about a week and then go forward with them regularly from there. I'm trying to get a couple of other things up beforehand but I'll aim to get up a chapter a week here. More often if possible but as you know, I am juggling a lot of stories and I try to keep a couple of balls in the air at a time or they all fall down and I only have one thing going._

_Finally, yes, I have started actually typing up the next Fracture. It won't be the next post, but it is starting to come together._

_Hopefully I've made some of you happy getting this up again, and I still haven't finished all of my thank yous from the final Girl chapter, but I thought you'd probably prefer I get this up first and get back to you tomorrow :)_


	2. Home Is Where You Hang Your Holster

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter! It's nice that so many people were looking forward to this story going up again.

Here we're still going in order of scenes with the original chapters. And actually because those original chapters were so short, I will occasionally be combining them, which is what I did here. So these are of two of the original chapters but I added some little bookend scenes to give you a 'heftier' read. I again fleshed out the middle bits but if read this before, you'll definitely remember it.

And I'll tell you, the first version (which was 2 separate chapters) only added up to about 1300 words, this version has almost 9000 :)

Related Note: I love this chapter title but I can take no credit for it. It's an episode title from Life On Mars (the U.S. version).

_

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Mid December: Sunday_

**Home Is Where You Hang Your Holster**

Hotch leaned back against the sofa and scrubbed his hands down his face.

It was barely five o'clock but he was wiped. In his defense it had been a long weekend though. Yesterday they'd braved the crowds at the mall so that he and Emily could finish up their Christmas shopping and Jack could see Santa. Ordinarily neither of them would have waited so long to pick up gifts, but obviously last week they'd had much more pressing concerns than what to buy for Christmas presents.

After the biopsy results had come back Emily's positive attitude had taken a dip.

Truth be told, his did too.

Theoretical cancer was not the same as actual cancer. And though they had tried to prepare themselves, it was still a kick to the gut to hear the doctor say the words. Even if it again came along with the phrase "manageable situation" they were both severely depressed when they left his office.

On the way home from the appointment, Hotch stopped and bought Emily all of her favorite junk food. And then for the rest of the week they just operated on autopilot.

They went to work, kept to themselves during the day, and then went home to cuddle on the couch at night.

For four days not one minute of overtime was put in and not one case file left either of their desks. For once something had finally . . . completely . . . shoved their work to the backburner.

They just needed some time away from all of their other problems.

Essentially they lived in a bubble outside of their normal reality. So in addition to the bags of junk food that needed to be replenished within forty eight hours, every night for dinner they ate whatever greasy takeout Emily was in the mood for and then they watched every weepy chick flick in her DVD collection.

Ordinarily Hotch would not be subjected to that much estrogen in that short a period of time. But he wasn't leaving her side and Emily said that the movies made her feel better. His theory there was that her being able to pretend that she was crying for the tragedies of fictional characters, was giving her enough distance from her own situation that she could process it a bit more easily.

Or at least that's what he told himself as he blinked away his own tears when he watched Sally Field standing in the middle of a cemetery screaming at God for taking her daughter.

Those few days weren't really healthy for their bodies, but psychologically Hotch knew that depression was a normal part of the process and he figured that after the hits they'd taken that week that they deserved a couple days of wallowing.

But then came Friday.

Jack.

There was no wallowing when Jack was around. The moment he'd come bounding out the front door of Haley's house dragging his SpongeBob backpack behind him, hollering his exuberant "hi daddy, hi Miss Emily!" a warm spot had filled Hotch's heart as a grin had spread across Emily's face.

Dinner that night was a homemade hot dog casserole and the movie choice involved a large green ogre and a small brown donkey.

Later that evening as they lay in bed Emily whispered in the dark that she was done being sad, that it was time to suck it up. Christmas was here and she wanted to be happy.

He had rolled her beneath him, his hands sliding under her t-shirt as he murmured against her lips that he agreed one hundred percent. And then they made love. Though they had done that every night since they'd returned from the hospital, Friday night was different.

They joked and they laughed and there was no taint . . . as there had been in their earlier couplings . . . that they were trying to chase away death.

They just had fun.

And in the morning Hotch had slipped out of bed early to again make special pancakes. And after they'd finished up at the mall, they'd come home and Hotch made them turkey burgers for dinner . . . no more take out for awhile . . . and then they played a Candy Land marathon and Emily got into a tickle fight with Jack and she laughed so hard that she had tears running down her face.

They were the first happy ones of the week.

Because with Jack around there was no talk of cancer or illness or anything negative. Life was good and simple and that's what they embraced.

So today his best girl and his son had baked Christmas cookies while Hotch had gone out on his own to pick up Emily's present.

With the exception of one meeting Hotch had with Strauss, it was the first time he and Emily had been more than a yell away from each other all week.

When he got back from his special shopping trip, they had lunch and then they'd dropped Jack off at Haley's. His son was sent back to his mother with a tin of candy cane shaped cookies and a kiss from each of them.

When they'd come home Emily had given him his own kiss before disappearing upstairs to take a nap. Hotch had put away the dishes and then spent the last forty-five minutes figuring out new work schedules for both Emily and himself. She was due to start her radiation treatments next week.

That would be the Monday after Christmas.

Fortunately he'd already taken the team off rotation, but they still had regular obligations at work. Even with the holidays there were routine meetings to attend, and there would be classes to teach at the Academy once break was over. So Hotch had been trying to discreetly rework those items to free both of them up in the mornings so he could take Emily to the clinic.

The oncologist had told her that as long as she felt up to it that she could keep working even during the radiation treatments. They weren't every day, and because the effects were cumulative, most likely she'd have a good month before she started to really hit the wall.

Emily was hopeful that she could keep a full time schedule for at least the month because once she had to start taking time off that would be the point where they needed to tell everyone what was happening. And then her cancer was going to become a big deal to everyone.

To put it mildly . . . they were going to be upset.

So she had decided that she didn't anyone else to be sucked into their new world until they had to be. And as of right now Hotch figured that meant they had until mid-January to continue with the status quo at work.

That was of course dependent on him being able to shuffle around their standing appointments without raising any suspicions. But as he looked back at the breakdown on his laptop, he was pretty sure that they were in good shape. They really only needed a ninety minute cushion because Emily had already talked to the clinic and requested the earliest appointments they had.

And apparently they actually did see people as early as seven am, so Hotch figured if she could regularly be seen at that time, then they should be able to get into work by nine.

Which . . . though it was a regular start time for most people . . . was a little late for them. But he was planning on just bringing home a little work home with him every night and then he'd be able to stay on top of everything as he had before.

Bringing work home every night was a habit that he'd started to break himself of, but special accommodations needed to be made now for this situation. And the most important thing was that he physically be with Emily 24/7. So if he had to block off an hour of paperwork every evening while she sat next to him watching television or reading a book, well then, that was just fine with him.

As long as he could be there for her if she needed him then that was all that mattered.

Though as he thought about the 24/7 thing, he realized that he had a problem that needed to be addressed tonight.

Since the Friday before her accident he'd been living out of his ready bag and the laundry he had at her house. Which was working out just fine until he had starting mentally planning what he needed to do tomorrow and suddenly realized that they hadn't done laundry all week.

He'd finally run out of work clothes.

Yes, he could just throw in a load now, but that was just a band-aid for the bigger issue. And the bigger issue needed to be discussed with the woman of the house, so he pushed himself off the couch to go up and see if Emily was awake.

As he started up the stairs, Hotch checked his watch and saw that Emily had disappeared almost two hours ago so if she wasn't awake already then she should probably be waking up soon. But knowing that her body needed the extra rest now, he didn't want to wake her if she wasn't up yet on her own. So he was quiet as he poked his head into the bedroom.

Except . . . his brow wrinkled as he saw the bed empty . . . she wasn't there.

Huh.

And a check of the bathroom told him she wasn't in there either.

Okay . . . he stepped back into the upstairs hallway . . . she hadn't come downstairs so she was around here somewhere.

"Emily!" He called out with his hands on his hips, "sweetheart, where are you?"

Hearing a muffled "down here" from the walk-in closet at the other end of the hall, he started walking closer. As he approached Emily popped her head out, tucking a slightly dusty strand of hair back behind her ear while coughing out.

"What's up?"

Hotch's brow wrinkled as he heard the cough and realized that he needed to get her out of that filthy storage space before she had a respiratory attack.

He'd spent over an hour in there digging out Christmas decorations and had needed a Benadryl when he was done. But he put that thought aside for a minute so he wouldn't get off track.

"I've run out of clothes," his jaw twisted, "and I was thinking that's going to keep happening. So," he raised his eyebrow, "what do you think about me moving in officially?"

For most people this would be a conversation taking place about six months down the road, and they'd only been officially dating for a few weeks. But of course unofficially they'd been together for much longer than that.

Since the fall their relationship had been cultivating like it was on growth hormones and there was no doubt in either of their minds of their love or commitment for one another. Neither of them was going anywhere.

And he meant that literally.

Until she was well again he had no intention of leaving her alone for even one night. So why pay the rent on two places when one was just going to be a place to keep his clothes?

Under any other circumstances he might have considered their burgeoning codependency to be a slightly troublesome phenomenon. But given her illness he'd given the issue about thirty seconds thought before he'd muttered "screw it" and yelled into the bathroom to ask Emily if she wanted to watch the news before bed. And that was the beginning and the end of his concerns in that regard.

He had no time for petty neuroses anymore, she had cancer. And cancer trumped codependency any day.

But seeing Emily biting her lower lip now as she considered his question, Hotch wrinkled his nose.

"I know it's only been a couple of weeks but," he shrugged, "I'm here all the time now and that pattern won't be changing at any point in the foreseeable future. So it seems logical that I'd let the other lease go. What do you think?"

Though it was taking her a minute to answer, Hotch wasn't at all nervous about her response to his question. He didn't consider this a barometer of their current happiness, it was simply a logistical discussion.

And he knew that she hadn't been in a serious relationship in years so if it would make her more comfortable to wait a little longer before he hauled everything he owned into her condo, well that was completely understandable.

Emily stopped chewing her lip as she squinted at him.

"What do I think?" She tossed back his question, "hmm, I think . . ."

She reached back into the massive hall closet, pulling out two large empty storage cubes as she spun back around.

"Mi condo, es su condo!" She finished with a grin.

Hotch's lips started to twitch as she continued, "I was moving your bag off the bed this morning and noticed you were down to two pairs of socks and," she smirked, "as much as I'd enjoy having you sitting around the house buck naked, I didn't really think that would fly for work. So after I woke up I started digging around in here emptying these out so we could get your things from home. And now," she winked at him, "I think I really should get out of this closet before I start coughing up furballs."

"What?" she smirked at his raised eyebrow, "did you honestly think that Ididn't notice the way your brow narrowed when I coughed a minute ago," she huffed at him as she put the cubes down to wipe a cobweb off her pant leg, "this is not my first day as a profiler Agent Hotchner."

Fortunately he hadn't been up here earlier when she'd first opened the door and had a sneezing attack.

He would have had a fit.

Hotch had been watching her like a hawk since the diagnosis last week. It was very sweet and completely understandable so she didn't have the heart to even comment on it before tonight.

Because if God forbid their positions were reversed, she knew that she'd be doing the exact same thing to him.

Though to Hotch's credit, he was making an effort not to actually voice aloud _every_ concern he had about her health or physical well being. But she knew him too well. She hadn't missed one jaw twitch, nose wrinkle or brow elevation in the past seven days.

When they were walking around the mall his brow was twitching so much that she was afraid he was going to get a face cramp.

As Emily stood in the doorway dusting off her pants Hotch shook his head in exasperation . . . the woman acknowledges that she _knows _that he doesn't want her in the closet, and yet still the woman was standing IN the closet!

Part of him wanted to just physically pick her up and move her into the hallway, but that seemed a slight overreaction to the situation. It was a layer of dust, not a flying bullet. And as thrilled as he was that they were on the same page about moving in, he wished that she had talked to him before she started cleaning out these boxes herself.

He should be the one covered in dust right now, not her.

"It's only," Emily looked down to check her watch, "5:50," her eyes came back up, "and you need a suit for tomorrow," she winked at him, "and I need a warm man in my bed, so," she lightly kicked one of the boxes towards him, "let's head over to your place and fill these bad boys up!"

Emily knew that he wished she'd let him go into the closet instead of her . . . and really she'd had no problems whatsoever letting him dig out the Christmas decorations . . . but once she'd realized that she could now have Hotch in her bed on an indefinite basis, she'd been so excited that she hadn't even thought about going to talk to him first.

She just wanted to get the boxes cleaned out so they could get going over to his place.

Hearing the exuberance in her tone, Hotch's lip quirked up.

"That sounds like an excellent plan sweetheart," he said as he stepped forward and squeezed her hands, "but I think maybe we should eat first. By the time we finish up there and get back it's going to be late. And you're going to be hungry."

Emily's eyes dropped down as she frowned . . . damn logical considerations messing up her evening plans. Then a thought came to her and she looked back up at him hopefully.

"I know we're on a take-out moratorium but," she pouted at him, "maybe we could make an exception tonight and just have Chinese delivered to your house."

Never able to resist the pout, Hotch was already nodding before his mouth opened.

"Okay," he gave her a little smile, "I guess we could do that."

Yes, they were breaking their take-out moratorium less than seventy-two hours after they'd implemented it, but it was an exception for a good cause.

"Yay," Emily grinned as she leaned up to kiss him.

As his hands fell to her waist another thought came to her and when she pulled back she smirked.

"You can even bring that God awful Nicolas Cage movie I saw hiding in the back of your DVD collection."

She'd spotted it a couple of weeks ago and she'd been waiting for just the right time to mention it. Now was as good a time as any.

Hotch's eyes widened in alarm . . . crap! When had she seen that? Knowing the amount of grief he'd get for it he'd had it tucked way in the back behind some old movies of Jack's that he didn't watch anymore. Now he was never going to hear the end of it!

Wait . . . don't overreact Aaron he told himself . . . maybe she's just bluffing. Deflect.

"I have no idea wha . . ."

But Emily cut him off at the knees.

"Uh," she shook her head, "don't even try it Aaron Francis. I know what I saw and I still allowed you to accompany me back to my home that night so clearly I was able to move beyond it. If you like it, it is welcome in our house. All I ask is that you please give me some warning if you're going to watch it."

As Emily smiled sweetly at him, Hotch scowled his protest at her unprovoked attack on his video collection.

"Nicolas Cage is an academy award winning actor," he responded flatly as he leaned past her to grab the storage boxes from the floor.

Emily's eyes crinkled before she leaned up to give him an indulgent kiss on the lips.

"I know he is honey," she said sympathetically as she patted his cheek, "but not for Guarding Tess."

/*/*/*/*/*/*

Emily sat on Hotch's bedroom carpet unzipping the giant duffel bag he had found in the back of his closet.

They'd been there about an hour and a half, Billy had shown up at 6:30 with their Chinese delivery and he had Hotch had done their usual cool trading of pleasantries as food and cash were exchanged.

It amused her that their little "rivalry" had continued for so many months, but their détente worked for them so she just chuckled and got out of their way.

So after Billy left, they'd taken a fifteen minute break to eat something before moving back to attempting to relocate Hotch's entire life in one evening.

The two boxes she'd dug out were decent size, but obviously they were nowhere big enough to hold ALL of Hotch's possessions. She'd known they were going to need at least a few trips to get everything out but if they could at least get him mostly packed and sorted tonight, then it would be easy enough to just grab a couple boxes or bags each night on their way home from work.

So essentially the more they did now, the less they'd have to do later.

That was essentially their new motto for everything . . . not putting off until tomorrow things that could be done today. Yes . . . she started loading his socks into the bag . . . she was aware that they had not _invented_ this particular phrase, but at present it was the one that was most apt for their approach to life.

Oh . . . her eyes lit up as she stopped her sock stockpiling . . . maybe she should get one of those inspiration wall plaques for the living room!

Then her nose wrinkled as she pictured something really cheesy with a cat dangling off it . . . no, maybe not. Perhaps a refrigerator magnet would be better.

Yeah . . . she nodded firmly to herself . . . magnets were good. They were a cheerful kitchen accessory. So maybe she'd get a few little inspirational ones to keep herself perked up on crappy days.

Granted most of them were a little bit hokey, and kind of clichéd, but the clichés persisted for a reason.

They gave people hope.

And though she was not at all lacking in that regard right now . . . even when she'd been so down last week she'd never doubted that she was going to beat the cancer . . . she wasn't foolish enough to think that there wouldn't be any dark days ahead.

She huffed to herself . . . so she might as well stock up on all of the clichéd, inspirational, hokey assed clutter she could before those dark days arrived.

And suddenly realizing that she'd allowed her mind to wander for a bit too long . . . she'd been staring down at the beige carpet for a good minute . . . Emily shook her head and refocused on the task at hand.

Transitioning Hotch from "Regular Boyfriend" status to "Live-In Boyfriend" status.

Regular Soon To Be Live In man in question was cleaning out his bathroom and Emily had volunteered to handle the bedroom.

"Better opportunities for snooping," she'd told him with a grin as he reluctantly left the room looking slightly unsettled.

The "unsettled" look amused her. It meant that some part of his brain was nervous about her finding something embarrassing in his room.

After all this time she knew the man as well as anyone so she couldn't imagine what he could be worried about. But perhaps . . . she pulled the sock drawer the rest of the way out . . . she'd find something good in here.

Who knows . . . her lips twitched . . . perhaps he was once the Dread Pirate Roberts.

Chuckling quietly to herself, Emily grabbed the last pair of black socks in the drawer.

She'd grabbed his whole drawer because you never could have too many pairs. One of the little bastards was always getting lost in the dryer.

That was so perplexing to her. You have two feet, so you _know _that you put two socks into the wash, yet only the one comes back.

She actually had a theory that when conditions were just right with the rotation of the earth and the spinning of the drum that a worm hole opened up and rogue socks escaped through to the Delta Quadrant. When she shared her theory with Hotch he had responded drily that that if she could now just invent a theoretical wormhole jumping _spaceship_ then she could chase after them. Of course she told him that he was being ridiculous.

Clearly then the Borg would be after her.

At that point he'd rolled his eyes and walked away.

She opened Hotch's bottom drawer . . . sadly he was just not a man of science.

Okay . . . she started flipping through the clothes in front of her . . . and here were all of his non work pants.

After determining that Hotch actually had a hell of a lot more pairs of pants than she'd realized . . . or he would ever wear . . . she decided that four pairs of jeans and four pairs of khakis would be more than sufficient to cover him for right now.

They could get the rest later.

All right next . . . she bumped that drawer shut before she opened the next one . . . boxers. As with the socks, the full drawer was coming so she started pulling out the folded stacks.

Given that they'd been regularly sleeping in each other's beds since long before they actually started having sex, Emily was quite familiar with Hotch's underwear. And everything she was pulling out now were all the typical, conservative Hotch type colors and prints that she'd seen before.

Solids, plaids and stripes were in the lineup . . . and in all the times she'd done his laundry she'd never seen so much as a polka dot in the mix. So when she got to the back of the underwear drawer she found quite the surprise.

Playboy Bunnies.

Her mouth started to quiver at the black silk with the big white bunny on the crotch.

Well . . . she snorted as she shook them out in front of her . . . this was interesting. And there was no way in hell that he had bought these for himself. It also seemed extremely unlikely that he would have saved them if they were a gift from Haley . . . not that Haley seemed the type to give such a gift . . . so Emily was surmising perhaps a favor from a bachelor party.

Or if not that . . . she chuckled to herself . . . Dave.

Yes, she could easily see Dave giving him such a thing for some nefarious reason.

Well . . . she turned around to tuck them into her own bag before Hotch came out of the bathroom . . . wherever he got them, there's no way that he would have left her alone in the bedroom if he had any memory of putting them into the back of his drawer.

So she was _quite_ sure that as soon as he spotted them they'd get dumped right into the trash. And that wasn't happening until she'd had a chance to whip them out and conduct an impromptu interrogation.

It would be a fun way to make him squirm.

As much fun as it would be to think up a good scenario now . . . something with him fresh out of the shower would be good . . . picturing a naked Hotch was too much of a distraction when she still had work to do. So Emily regretfully pushed those thoughts out of her head before opening the next drawer. One that she was quite familiar with from all of her clothes stealing in the past.

Pajama pants/sweats.

Half flannel, half cotton, and they all balled up nicely so they could all come to their new house tonight. They were trying to cram as much of the small stuff into the duffel that they could so the cubes could be used for larger things that it would be best not to wrinkle.

Eventually everything would be coming of course, but as this move was completely impromptu, she still needed to rearrange her closet and dressers tomorrow so he'd have a place to put the stuff they were bringing home now.

Otherwise . . . she started pulling out the piles of pajamas . . . he wouldn't be able to reuse the bags and containers they had. As with Hotch's boxers Emily was also quite familiar with his pajamas, but then suddenly her eyes lit up.

World's Greatest Dad ones!

Oh God . . . she pulled them out and shook them . . . they were adorable! And she was going to make sure that he wore them the next time Jack was over.

After tucking the dad ones safely into the bottom of the duffel she smiled to herself . . . and now she'd learned that Hotch kept all of the good stuff in the back of the drawer. Good to know for the future when she was snooping for presents.

Okay . . . she turned back to the dresser with a sigh . . . she was starting to get a bit worn out . . . T-Shirts and golf shirts.

All the white ones of course needed to come, he needed them for work.

Plus he had . . . she started scooping . . . a red, a blue, a green, and huh . . . her nose wrinkled when she realized that he didn't have anything in yellow. He'd look good in yellow. She made a mental note to pick one up for him.

Okay, and the last one in the back . . . she reached in . . . black. Her brow furrowed slightly . . . no, not black, not completely. She shook it out so she could see it more closely.

That's so odd. Where in God's name did he get this?

"Aaron!" she yelled over her shoulder. Hearing a mumble of acknowledgement she called back.

"Where did you get this t-shirt?"

"What T-shirt?" Hotch asked as he poked his head through the doorway. He was juggling his shampoo, conditioner, contact solution and shaving kit.

He really should have brought a bag into the bathroom with them.

"This one here," Emily held it up in front of her to show the big pair of red lips, "you aren't really a 'Concert t-shirt Guy'."

Which was why his ownership of this particular item was so perplexing.

"No," Hotch pondered, "no I'm not a concert t-shirt guy. Where DID I get that?" He bit his lip as he thought for a second, "wait," he nodded, "I know. Law school class get together for our five year reunion. I actually think that was just after I started at the Bureau."

He looked at the shirt for a second.

"It was just a souvenir from the concert," he shrugged, "I've probably never even worn it. You can leave it and I'll deal with it later."

When he'd moved out of the home he'd shared with Haley he'd just dumped everything from those dresser drawers into boxes, and then the boxes were emptied back into dressers again.

First at his temporary, month to month, apartment and then at the new place.

And he didn't wear _half_ of the stuff he owned so basically he just took from the top of the piles. So God only knew what was in the backs of those drawers.

Hence his slight bit of apprehension at having Emily sorting out his dresser for him. If she found something embarrassing tucked in there . . . like a glow in the dark condom or something . . . he was never going to hear the end of it.

"No," Emily said quietly as she rubbed the cotton with her fingers. "I like it," she looked up at him with a soft smile, "we should take it."

This was too perfect, and there was no way that she was leaving it behind.

Hotch was a little perplexed at Emily's obvious affection for an old Stones T-shirt, but if it made her happy then . . . okay. So he shrugged again and gave her a little smile, "whatever you want sweetheart."

After Hotch dumped his toiletries into the clear storage bin on the floor, he picked it up as he continued talking.

"I'm going to go check the living room and see if there's anything else down there that will fit in here."

The box was pretty full but maybe some books or something would fit.

"'Kay'," Emily mumbled back, still staring at the shirt. After he disappeared through the doorway she remembered something and called out a little louder.

"Don't forget Tess!"

Hearing a grumble of "yeah, yeah" as he got further away, Emily's lips twitched slightly. Then her attention turned back to the article of clothing in her hands.

Hmm . . . she thought as she carefully folded the T-shirt back up . . . really, what were the odds?

She remembered attending this exact same concert herself back in the summer of '95. It would have even been at the same venue. She'd just graduated from Yale and was staying with her parents for a few weeks before she started her graduate studies abroad.

Her date for the concert that night . . . she could picture his face but not his name . . . had gotten drunk and started picking fights with the other drunken jackasses around them. So naturally she'd stolen his keys and then ditched him before she went home alone. And the reason she remembered that night so clearly was because when she got back to her parents' house, she'd been fumbling with her key when the front door had suddenly opened and there she stood nose to nose with a somewhat grave, but ridiculously handsome face.

Of course Emily being Emily, she ruined the moment by tripping into the doorway and almost falling flat on her own pretty face. But at the last second the handsome young man in the crisp black suit had caught her hand. And she'd seen him try to hide his small smile at her clumsiness.

That was the night they met.

Not exactly Bogie and Bergman escaping from the Nazis, but that was okay . . . her eyes crinkled . . . they were always more like Hepburn and Grant in the middle of the woods. And the other thing she remembered about that night was that he hadn't released her hand immediately. Instead he'd stared at her for another beat before he squeezed her fingers once . . . alerting her to that damn wedding ring . . . and then he'd let her go, continued on his way out the door . . . and out of her life.

For a decade anyway.

Emily left for Egypt a few days after the concert and she didn't see Hotch again until she started at the BAU. But she had thought about him occasionally over those intervening years.

Yes, she had felt his wedding ring press into her hand that night in July, but they'd shared a little moment and there was no crime in wondering whatever became of him. And now . . . her lip quirked up . . . she knew what became of him.

He became hers.

With a soft smile she placed the shirt carefully on the top of Hotch's other clothes . . . and this t-shirt was kind of a souvenir of that first meeting. That's why she liked it so much.

It seemed like a sign that they were meant to be.

She rolled her eyes . . . of course she'd never tell him why she liked the shirt so much. Really, there was No way she was ever telling him that story!

Emily gave a derisive chuckle as she zipped up the overflowing duffel and started to drag it towards the hall.

It was waaay too sappy!

/*/*/*/*/*/*

Hotch looked up from the DVD case as Emily came into the room tugging his duffel bag along on the carpet behind her. His lip quirked up slightly.

"Heavy?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"My God," she exclaimed as she kicked it to the door, "you have more clothes than I do!" Looking over to see his eyebrow go up another millimeter she amended.

"Okay, maybe not MORE, but," she walked over and flopped down on the couch, "definitely more than I thought you had."

She had a three quarters full walk-in closet so yes, she did beat him on this one point. But seeing how many things he had too she knew that both of them were going to have to pare down and send some stuff to goodwill before they would have equal closet and dresser distribution.

Hotch was about to ask Emily if she could go look in the bedroom for another duffel bag, but then he noticed how tired she looked. His expression softened as he stood up.

"You know I think we've done enough for today," he walked over and leaned down to brush her bangs back, "I can get the rest over the weekend."

The last thing he wanted was for her to overdo it. Moving was mentally and physically exhausting even when you were one hundred percent physically fit.

And . . . he gently cupped her jaw as he tried to give her a little smile . . . his girl's present physical fitness was no longer one hundred percent.

Emily was about to protest that she was fine, that they could do a little more tonight, but then she saw the little wrinkle in his brow and she realized that he was right. It was probably time to stop.

Even though she'd taken a short nap earlier, she was exhausted.

Though she was pretty sure that it was just normal exhausted . . . they'd had a long, stressful week . . . and not cancer exhausted . . . whatever the hell that was . . . but either way, she did have to start getting into the habit of knowing when to call it a day. She was used to working ten, twelve hours at a stretch, more even if they were on the road. And though she didn't actually feel like she had this horrible thing growing inside of her . . . she did.

And she knew that if she let herself get run down . . . which was definitely going to start happening more easily . . . then her immune system could be compromised.

And that would be bad.

So instead of insisting that they push through another hour, she reached up and squeezed Hotch's hand.

"Yeah," her lip quirked up slightly as she looked over at the little stack of boxes and bags they had by the front door, "that's probably enough for today."

Knowing that this was only the first of many adjustments that they were going to have to make because of her illness, Emily felt a little wave of melancholy hit her.

As time went on it was going to get harder and harder to pretend like everything was normal. At some point her cancer was going to be an entity that they couldn't ignore. She had pills now for the headaches but they were for after the pain already hit.

She still had to GET the headache first.

And she'd been told that they . . . and the dizzy spells . . . were probably going to get worse before they got better. Not to mention the other side effects that she had to look forward to getting from the radiation and the array of medications she was soon going to begin taking.

So . . . she sighed . . . she might as well start making her peace with the new normal now.

But she didn't want to get depressed again after she'd decided a few days ago to let that go . . . negative thoughts served no purpose . . . so Emily tried to think of something to lighten the mood. Then she remembered what day it was.

Tuesday.

Mike Rowe was on tonight. Well, kinda, it was a voiceover. But that was close enough for government work so she grinned at Hotch.

"If we get going now we can watch Deadliest Catch and eat the leftover Chinese in bed."

Hotch tipped his head as he tugged her up from the sofa.

"Yes, we could do that." Then a thought came to him and his eyebrows knitted together.

"But that's _officially_ half my bed now you know," he said as he pulled her flush against his body with a mock scowl, "so you better keep your fried rice off my pillow Agent Prentiss."

"Well, _SIR_," she leaned up, smacking a kiss on his lips as her arms slipped around his neck, "if you'd stop stealing my pillow then you wouldn't find rice granules in your hair."

That actually had happened last month. He woke up with a clump of fried rice and a tiny piece of pork in his hair.

For some reason he was not as amused about it as she was.

Hotch rolled his eyes as he looked down at her.

"I can't believe that you're attempting to blame me for your inability to use an eating utensil as intended," he shook his head at her, "you put the food on the tines of the fork and then you bring the fork to your mouth."

After pausing for a beat Hotch smirked at her.

"It's not hard sweetheart, even Jack can do it."

Emily stared at Hotch for a moment before she shook her head slowly.

"You're quite cocky today, aren't you? Apparently you seem to have forgotten that I have a picture of you with tomato sauce all over your dress shirt," she poked him in the chest, "so you keep it up buster and I might be forced to bring that picture into the office."

Unlike the fried rice incident where he was half naked, the meatball picture showed a fully work clothed Hotch, so she could definitely get away with flashing it around the office.

The bare chested one with him scowling at her in the bedroom would admittedly be a bit harder to explain.

Hotch's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"YOU'RE the one that spilled the tomato sauce on me!" He cried out in disbelief. "You tried to steal my last meatball and knocked it, and the spaghetti wrapped around it, off the fork and into my lap!"

An incident which was of course followed by the age old standard, "oops, sorry honey."

What killed him though was that he would have given her the damn meatball if she'd just asked him for it rather than attempting to steal it. But apparently purloined food tasted better because that was always her default position.

"So you say," Emily smiled at him as her arms slipped around his waist, "but my little photo is simply a still life, not a flip book biography. So I just have you covered in tomato sauce with an empty fork," she rested her cheek on his chest, "plus," she yawned from her more comfortable position, "like I said, I also have the one of you with fried rice in your hair. So you're 0 for 2 right now."

Though it was true that the flour on his cheek the other day was the first time that Emily had ever seen Hotch look disheveled on his own, it was also true that on more than one occasion she had spilled food on him, his clothes or his bed. And that was going back well before they even started hanging out together over the summer.

It really was lucky that he loved her as much as he did or the night she got pizza in his hair might have been a dealbreaker.

Hotch had a smart retort for Emily's not so veiled blackmail threat, but when he looked down he saw that her eyes were closing as she settled against his chest.

Feeling a little ache in his chest at the reminder that even though they were bantering like it was any other day, things weren't really like they used to be. And that thought doused his competitive spirit completely. So he put aside his comeback and instead just sighed as he tipped his head down and cuddled her close.

Knowing Emily she was probably considering his silence as a win in her column, but he was just considering it a draw.

Besides . . . he rubbed his hand down her back . . . this conversation was sure to come up again . . . he rolled his eyes good naturedly . . . probably tomorrow when he woke up to find a piece of teriyaki stuck to his ass.

They stood there for a minute before he heard her murmur against his chest.

"If you promise to make me special pancakes again for Christmas then I promise to delete the meatball picture."

Though the fried rice was totally his fault . . . you steal somebody's pillow and you get what you deserve . . . but he perhaps might have had a small point that the splattering of tomato sauce on his shirt was all her.

Hotch's lips twitched at her offer . . . she gets special pancakes in exchange for destroying a _setup_ blackmail picture. He huffed . . . only in Emily's mind would that be considered an even trade.

But he knew a good deal when he heard it. That picture could easily turn up at the office holiday party this Tuesday.

Also though . . . his expression softened . . . if she wanted special pancakes for Christmas, New Year's and Easter morning then that's what she was getting. Hell he'd happily get up early and make them for her every day of the week if he asked. No trade required.

He just wanted her to be happy.

But for the sake of normality he needed to at least pretend that there was an exchange happening here, so his eyes crinkled as he tipped his head down and kissed her temple.

"Agreed," he said softly, "special pancakes on Christmas morning."

Then a thought came to him and he patted her back before whispering.

"Though if I make special pancakes again this week, will you please stop threatening to leave me for Mike Rowe?"

Though he'd known of her Mike Rowe crush for months . . . years actually, the guys would tease her about it at the office . . . ever since she'd found out the host was from Maryland . . . and the exact same age as Hotch himself . . . she'd begun making joking comparisons between the two of them.

It was all in good fun until after they'd made love the other night and then he noticed that Dirty Jobs had been on in the background. Now, it could have just been a coincidence, but he could have _sworn_ that they'd been watching CNN before the clothes started coming off.

And if she was now putting Mike Rowe on the TV when she made love to him, well . . . Hotch grunted . . . joke's over.

Emily snorted against Hotch's chest before lifting her head to look up at him in astonishment.

"You're such a goofball!" She laughed, "I already told you that _I_ didn't change the channel!" She poked him in the chest, "YOU hit the remote when you did that thing with my knee. It was on CNN and Discovery is the next channel down so that's where it went."

Really, it was his sex move that was causing him all this consternation. Granted it was a very fine move but she was thinking that in the future she was going to have to make sure that the remote was six feet from the bed before he put a hand anywhere on her.

And seeing him now still raising a vaguely suspicious eyebrow, Emily rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"But if it makes you feel better," she raised her right hand, "I solemnly swear not to watch, listen to or talk about Mike Rowe or any Mike Rowe related programming while we are kissing, making love or engaging in any type of amorous activities," her hand went down as her eyebrow went up, "okay?"

Hotch stared at her for a moment before he tipped his head.

"Okay, now was that so hard?"

They stared at each other for a moment completely straight faced before Emily grinned at him and he shot her a dimple.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered as she leaned up to smack a kiss on his lips, then she turned back and looked over to their pile of stuff by the door.

"Now let's go home."

_

* * *

A/N 2: If you read this before you can clearly see the original scenes and I always liked those chapters. And this I think is a good example of my hopes in pulling together this new version, we keep the good stuff from the beginning with a little padding on them plus a couple of bookends to actually "set" the scenes with more context of the larger events going on in their lives. And a key bookend here was adding in the bit with the first few days of adjusting to the news. That would have been something that happened offscreen the first time, but now that I have a better grasp on how to really "tell" a story (if you don't write let me say, to do it properly it's not as easy as you might think) and that was an oversight I wanted to correct. Because really, all the positive thinking in the world isn't going to change basic instinctive human reaction, you get told you have cancer and that's going to suck. So I thought they deserved a couple days of the wallowing so they could adjust and move past it to the next stage of just sucking it up and dealing. And yes, WildTreeRenee, the Steel Magnolias reference was for you! I don't think I'd had a chance to write back and say thank you yet, so I put this in here for you as a bigger thank you :) _

_Emily's crush on Mike Rowe was set up over in Girl (though it was in the original story here too) and it's nice doing these larger worlds where you can pull along threads of their personality. I think it gives them more texture, it kind of makes them real. It helps that there was a Dirty Jobs marathon on this morning and as we were watching it and he was making all of his little snarky comments I was thinking "oh yeah, Emily would LOVE him!" I had already written him into this chapter before but after I saw him today I added the little bit with the TV being on and Hotch getting vaguely jealous. It was just a good "what the hell?" moment as he realized that the channel had been changed._

_The furballs line was Arc's suggestion in the first version, and I didn't change a word this time around :)_

_We're moving into actual Christmas week (I'm trying to properly follow the 2008 calendar and today is 12/21 for them) so I think I'll put up one more chapter from the original story, it's a short light one, and then I want to write a couple of new Christmas chapters. My brain's properly immersed in the Girl'verse again though so I don't anticipate any slowdown on posting even with the new stuff here. _

_I'm also hoping to get another post up this weekend in a different world. I won't tell you which one though because then if I don't get it up then I'll look like a big tease! _


	3. How Starbucks Saved My Life

**Author's Note**: I wasn't planning on posting again here so soon but I started picking at this one off and on and then all of a sudden it was done and it seemed dumb to save it.

I believe it's obligatory that if you're using anything off the TV Title forum that you must write a story using this prompt :) In fact I think it's been our most instantaneously popular one since the red sweater back at Christmas. You never can tell what will strike a nerve with people but apparently direct objects are a popular choice so I shall keep that in mind going forward with prompt picks :) Speaking of, Kavi put up the July ones today and we'll be putting up Story Title ones later in the week, plus new bonuses in both forums.

This is short, by my standards anyway, and totally not deep at all. Just a refresh on point in time, it's the end of 2008 and we've entered Christmas week. Christmas was a Thursday that year.

Again, loved the chapter title but again, can take no credit for it. It's the title of a book, ironically about a man with a brain tumor.

**

* * *

Prompt Set #19 (June)**

**Show**: Desperate Housewives

**Title**: The Coffee Cup

_

* * *

Late December: Monday_

**How Starbucks Saved My Life**

"Aaron, is that your coffee?"

Hearing Emily's whisper in his ear, Hotch's gaze switched from his meeting notes to his girlfriend.

"I'm sorry?" He whispered back in slight bewilderment as he put the coffee in question back on the table.

"I was just _wondering_," Hotch noted that she stressed the 'wondering,' "if that was YOUR coffee, the one that you're drinking. Right now."

Though Emily's tone was very calm and professional Hotch could read the underlying . . . inexplicable . . . irritation.

Why in God's name was she irritated? And why was she wondering if this was his coffee?

He looked back down, his brow wrinkling as he stared into the now empty canteen cup.

But unfortunately there were no answers there to those two questions. Because he already knew without a shred of doubt that this was indeed his coffee. He'd bought them both a coffee downstairs when they walked in that morning.

So why was his choice of beverage causing her such irritation right now?

He looked back over to see her jaw twitching . . . definitely pissed about something . . . and then back to the cup. Now what was the prob . . .?

And then he saw it.

The slight smear of brown lipstick on the corner of the lid.

A second later he flashed on the last place he'd seen his own canteen cup . . . on the corner of his desk after he'd put it down to grab a call on his way out the door. So that meant that this one belonged to . . . he looked back to Emily.

Uh oh.

Emily could see the moment that he'd realized his mistake. He'd been staring down at the cup with the _'what the hell is she talking about' _look on his face . . . it was a look she was intimately acquainted with . . . when suddenly his eyes widened and he looked up at her.

That's right . . . she raised her eyebrow as gave him a barely perceptible nod . . . it's mine.

Halfway through the meeting Hotch had coughed and leaned over to take a sip out of the cup to his left. It was her cup but that wasn't a problem, they were sleeping/living together now, so as intimate exchanges went, a sip of her coffee was barely an action worthy of note.

Initially anyway.

But then he seemed to have forgotten that it was _her_ cup and he put it back down . . . not where he had found it . . . but off to his right. And then he continued to drink out of it for the rest of their discussion.

An additional forty-five minutes.

Now giving the man half of her closet space, two point five shelves in the medicine cabinet and her complete and utter devotion was one thing. But this . . . she grumbled to herself . . . this was totally unacceptable.

Of course she didn't mind sharing with him, but that was an ENTIRE cup of coffee! She'd only taken one sip before it had been annexed by her new housemate.

And the worst part was she couldn't even SAY anything!

If he had done it a month ago then she probably would have interrupted the meeting to take her drink back. The team knew that they'd become close friends but their relationship at that point was still technically platonic. There had been no declarations of any kind.

But since then things had changed completely. And now that they were officially living together, to her mind, this kind of thing fell under the umbrella of 'domestic discussion.'

And those were not conducted at work. That was a rule.

Well, maybe she could have gotten away with joking about it, but she was pretty sure that Dave . . . at the minimum . . . was on to them. He'd given her a knowing toothy grin the other day when she'd walked out of Hotch's office after lunch. To deflect any comments from him she had simply stated, "just get your teeth polished there Mr. Ed," before she continued down the steps to her desk.

Subtlety wasn't Dave's strong suit though, and Emily knew that eventually the man was going to flat out ask, "you two doing it or what?" but she was trying to push that question off a bit longer. In a few weeks they'd be telling everyone everything, so for now she didn't want to do anything to add more grist to that mill.

So she'd kept her mouth shut for those forty-five . . . caffeine deprived . . . minutes. But then when the meeting had ended . . . thirty-seven seconds earlier (seconds matter when you're suffering from withdrawal) . . . Emily had seen her opening to casually bring this matter to Hotch's attention to allow him to make amends for this transgression.

Immediately.

Hotch looked over to see Emily's eyebrow twitching and then he felt a little stab of fear as his eyes shot back to the empty cup.

He was in big trouble.

But . . . he began rapidly pulling his paperwork together . . . he could fix this. He could fix this right now. Emily without coffee was something that he'd had to endure on more than one occasion in the past.

And one time was more than enough.

So as he jammed his files under his arm, he simultaneously jumped out of his chair.

"I'm going to Starbucks," he announced to the group at large as he stared down at Emily in particular.

By his estimation . . . depending on whether or not there was a line at the coffee shop . . . he could get this whole matter cleared up in ten to thirteen minutes.

Though as he saw her eyebrow twitch again, he decided that he should definitely be shooting for the low end of that estimation.

And that meant he was going to have to run.

At Hotch's announcement, Jordan's brow wrinkled as she looked up at him from the laptop where she had been clearing her presentation.

"But Hotch," she asked in confusion, "weren't we going to meet to go over last month's press releases?"

Damn . . . Hotch winced . . . that had completely slipped his mind. But press release review wasn't a life or death discussion . . . not like the matter he was currently attending to.

Jordan could wait a few minutes.

"Yes Jordan," he responded matter of factly as though he hadn't completely forgotten about their sit-down, "we are still meeting but let's push it back twenty minutes," he started to the door, "I just need to get some coffee."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Hotch realized that sounded incredibly rude and he stopped to look back at his (temporary) media liaison.

"Would you like anything while I'm out?"

He might not be all that fond of the woman, but she'd been getting better lately. For one thing he hadn't wanted to lock her up alone with Emily and two pairs of boxing gloves in weeks. Regardless though, even if they had moved beyond him wanting his girlfriend to beat some common sense into her . . . and sick or not Hotch had no doubt that Emily could still kick Jordan's ass . . . if Hotch didn't offer to get the woman something when he went out then he was going to look like a complete schmuck.

Jordan was slightly taken aback that Hotch . . . a man who she was fairly sure hated her guts . . . was offering to get her a coffee.

Hmmm . . . she thought . . . maybe he was being nice because it was Christmas. Either way, she was due for her second cup.

"Um, sure," she responded hesitantly, "if you don't mind sir. Grande non-fat peppermint mocha, no whip . . . uh, thanks."

"Grande non-fat peppermint mocha, no whip," Hotch muttered back so he wouldn't forget. And he turned to walk out.

But then Derek piped up from the end of the table.

"Hotch, you doing a coffee run?"

Derek knew full well Hotch was doing a coffee run.

Hotch's eyes narrowed as he turned the full wattage of his glare on Morgan.

"I am," he said through grinding teeth, "would YOU like something Derek?"

Though Derek could clearly see the death glare that was being shot at him, he thought nothing of it. Given that he usually incurred that look at least twice a week, he'd become immune around year two. So he responded casually.

"Grande iced frappuchino, two shots, extra ice, extra whip," pause a beat for effect, "thanks man."

As Hotch's nostrils flared Derek chuckled to himself . . . unlike the boss, HE had known that was Emily's cup of coffee. And he had seen that Hotch himself hadn't realized that fact until it was much, _much_ too late.

Derek would follow the man to the gates of hell without question, but it wasn't often that he made a mockworthy . . . HUMAN . . . mistake. And in honor of this rare event, Derek was more than willing to pile on the pain that Emily was inflicting. And it was quite clear to Derek that was indeed what she was doing.

Though Derek still didn't know if the two of them were sleeping together, when she'd started grinding her teeth halfway through the meeting, he had known one thing for sure.

Hotch was a dead man.

"Oooh," Reid suddenly exclaimed as his finger waved in the air, "veinte triple espresso please for me."

Reid also knew that Hotch was replacing Emily's stolen coffee, which worked out really well for him. It was cold out and he needed a refill.

Finally accepting his fate, Hotch took a breath as returned to the table and began scribbling down all of the orders on the sticky pad in front of Jordan. Then he looked over at Rossi.

Just one ballbuster left.

"Dave?" He asked flatly.

Rossi had been watching the entire exchange with barely contained mirth. Of course he'd noticed when Aaron had taken Emily's coffee cup, and . . . though Dave had continued to _appear_ engrossed in his paperwork . . . he'd heard her question to him a moment before.

So he knew exactly what was going on with this sudden need to run to Starbucks though he had a previously scheduled meeting with Jordan. Hotch didn't put off his Jordan meetings . . . he just got them over with as soon as possible.

And as a good . . . okay, mediocre . . . Catholic, Dave could see that Hotch was now suffering penance for his sin. So with an obnoxious smirk he looked back up at his friend.

"Medium black, two sugars, and a slice of that of that marble pound cake if they have it."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Dave heard Reid yell out.

"Oh yeah, that sounds good, I'll take a slice of cake too!"

Hotch's jaw twitched as he stared at Dave's quivering mouth . . . any other day and he'd tell Rossi to shove his pound cake up his ass. But unfortunately today . . . he grunted something deliberately unintelligible as he added two slices of MARBLE pound cake to the order . . . the jackass had him by the balls.

After he'd ripped off the now completely ink covered scrap of yellow paper, Hotch started towards the door again. And that's when Emily called out.

"Oh, Hotch," she said sweetly, "could you please get me a grande black? No sugar. Thanks."

Though she loved him dearly Emily couldn't have been more thrilled that the rest of the team had just designated him Coffee Bitch. So . . . though this whole trip was of course for her . . . she couldn't resist OFFICIALLY putting in her own order just to bust his chops.

Hotch turned back to see Emily's mouth twitching.

"Of course Prentiss," he told her flatly before turning back, muttering as he walked out the door.

"I guess I should stop and ask Garcia too or I'll never hear the end of it."

Emily smirked as she started stacking up her case files.

'_Well, he definitely won't do that again.'_

_

* * *

A/N 2: Though I did punch this up a bit, it is essentially the exact same chapter as posted the first time. It's actually 1500 words longer though I have no idea how that happened seeing as the same sequence of events occurred. And I could have continued on with their day, but this was a fluffy little "day in the life" type chapter, the hallmark of the original story, so I decided to leave as is. Just because you're sick doesn't mean your whole life revolves around said sickness. For these four minutes of their lives the only crises that needed to be addressed was Hotch's replacement of Emily's coffee. Also, once I'd stumbled over that chapter title "How Starbucks Saved My Life" (which I didn't have the first time) I had to use it. And if I'd added anything here then I probably would have needed to rename the chapter, and that would have been a true tragedy _:)

_I started taking some stories that have been on hiatus out of dry dock (I watched like three hours of deadliest Catch last night so my speech is peppered with fishing references today) so I should have some updates over the next two weeks on a few items you haven't seen in awhile._

_If I haven't thanked you individually yet for your feedback on this story, thank you! It's much appreciated. _


	4. Sharing Big Problems With Little Brother

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay guys. You'd think a story that was technically already written to completion wouldn't take so damn long to repost :) But unfortunately my writing skills this summer hit the wall at the exact moment in time that I needed to create some additional chapters to hit their lives over that Christmas season.

That said, I think we'll be okay pretty soon. After this one I have three more brand new chapters scheduled (partially drafted on paper, more fully drafted in my head) and then I'll be back onto the blueprint of the original story again.

This one is a continuation of the same Starbucks day. Them at home later that night.

And FYI: Prompts went up in both forums this week.

* * *

**Prompt Set #13 (December)**

Show: Friends

Title Challenge: The One With the Creepy Holiday Card

* * *

_Late December: Monday Night_

**Sharing Big Problems With Little Brothers**

"Aaron, come on, it'll be fun! Even if you're on call or whatever it's not like you'll be in the middle of nowhere. You can fly anywhere in the world from New York. In fact . . ."

As his brother continued talking, Hotch closed his eyes and sighed. For the last five minutes Sean had been trying to convince him to take Emily to New York for New Year's Eve. He had already reminded him of their promise to get together more often, and then he'd pointed out what a good time they had in October at the opening. And now he was . . . again . . . telling him about the black tie New Year's Eve party at the restaurant.

Emily would love it.

And it was killing Hotch listening to Sean describing the band and the guests and the food because he knew that Emily _would _love it. She'd love to see Sean again, she'd love to go dancing and she'd love to play dress up.

But they couldn't go.

She was starting her radiation on the 29th and the party was a mere two days. Not to mention two hundred plus miles away from her doctor and the oncology clinic. And if Hotch could just tell Sean these things then his brother would understand and he'd stop making him feel guilty about declining his request to fly up for the weekend.

But he couldn't tell him. They hadn't told _anyone_ yet about her cancer, and two days before Christmas seemed a hell of a time to dump it on anyone. Especially Sean. He really liked Emily. Not only had they hit it off at the party in October, but since then the two of them had been writing and emailing regularly. It had all started with Emily's thank you note for inviting her to the opening. Then Sean had immediately written back to her with a half a roll of glossy photos that the photographer had taken at the party that night. Emily emailed him for a couple of copies, one thing led to another and then they were conversing at least once a week. As their relationship stood now, Hotch was more likely to get an update on Sean's life from Emily than Sean himself.

Not that that bothered him in the slightest. In fact Hotch had been _thrilled _that the two of them had struck up a friendship. Especially given that it had been only a few weeks after they'd returned from that party that he'd realized that he was in love with Emily and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. The fact that she had already been welcomed into the family by his brother was icing on the metaphorical cake.

And since they'd officially gotten together a couple of weeks ago, it seemed like Sean would be the logical first person with whom to share that news. Of course Emily's fall, subsequent biopsy and the fallout there had delayed the sharing of that happy news. But after they'd reengaged in life again this weekend, they'd started talking about things they'd been putting off doing.

Telling Sean that the two of them were now living together had been high up on that list.

And it had been agreed . . . okay, Emily had decided . . . that given that it was _his_ brother, the announcement of the change in their relationship would probably be more logical coming from Hotch than Emily.

Though Hotch had seen her point, he still wasn't all that keen on the idea of discussing his love life with his little brother. They didn't talk about things like that.

Feelings.

So he'd decided on an approach that fortunately had received Emily's seal of approval. The idea being that a picture was worth a thousand words aka a half an hour of an awkward phone call. So Emily helped him pick out a Christmas card from the both of them, and then Hotch signed it "love Aaron, Emily & Jack." Inside he'd enclosed a change of address and a picture of his girlfriend holding his son as they both grinned up at him from in front of the snowman family that the three of them had built that morning.

As symbolism went, Hotch felt that was about as clear as he could be.

And it was clear that Sean had indeed "gotten it." They'd mailed the card out on Saturday afternoon and Sean had called with his congratulations fifteen minutes ago . . . barely two days later. And as Hotch listened to him continuing to go on about what a great time the three of them would have Hotch finally saw that he was going to have to tell him. Because before he'd known about the party he'd let it slip that they were off rotation until the new year so there was just no logical excuse that he could come up with to explain why he and Emily couldn't visit for a couple days.

Besides that though, Hotch didn't want to lie to his brother. It was one thing to simply not mention something, but another thing entirely to go out of his way to make up a false story. That idea didn't sit well at all. So with a weary sigh Hotch dropped down on the bed as he finally cut his brother off.

"Sean," he cut in softly, "Emily's sick."

And Sean stopped talking.

For a moment there was silence and then his brother came back quietly, "I'm assuming from your tone that you don't mean that she has a cold."

Hotch stood up and began to pace around the bedroom again.

"No," he scrubbed his hand down his face, "no I don't mean she has a cold." He took a breath, "she has a brain tumor. Malignant." Hearing the intake of air on the other end of the line Hotch winced, "and I'm so sorry to tell you now, like this, but I didn't want to lie to you. Her treatment begins Monday and there are side effects and, well, I'd love to see you but we can't go anywhere for awhile."

Sean bit his lip, "Jesus Aaron," his voice was husky, "I'm really sorry. What did they say about her uh . . . chances?"

"She's going to be FINE," Hotch shot back sharply. And then he realized that there was a little too much bite on his tone and he softened it.

"I mean," he continued in a softer quieter tone, "that the doctors said her prognosis is quite good. But she was just diagnosed last week and this is all new, we're still adjusting. And like I said her treatment starts Monday and we need to stay close to home."

Sean nodded, "of course, I understand completely." Then he paused for a moment as he stared down at the picture of Emily and Jack smiling in front of the snowman family.

This was horrible news. Sean really liked Emily. She was so funny and really sweet, and clearly she'd been a good influence on Aaron. He'd probably talked to his brother more over the last four months than he had in total for the entire previous year. In part that was a result of Sean's accident in August, but he also knew that was Emily too.

She'd been a bridge, an effortless means to keep communication flowing. And of course . . . a more selfish thought came to Sean's mind . . . it was so his brother's life that he'd fall in love with a great girl like her and then something like this would happen.

Aaron never could get a break.

With that thought an idea came to him and he blurted out.

"I could come down for a couple days. You know ring in the New Year and visit for a bit, if uh," he cleared his throat, "if that was okay with you guys?"

Hopefully it would be okay, Sean really did want to see them. Now more than ever. The pain in Aaron's voice was clear even through the phone, and God knows how Emily was handling this. Sean hadn't heard from her in two weeks but he'd just assumed that she was busy with the holidays.

If only that had been the case.

But if Sean could come down he could give them some support. Be a distraction. This was the first time that Sean could recall having an opportunity to pay his brother back for everything he'd done for him when they were kids.

The bottom line was though that they were family, and families supported each other.

It was time to step up.

Hearing his brother's offer to come visit, a faint smile touched Hotch's lips.

"Yeah," he whispered back, "if you can get away that would be really nice. I'm sure Emily would love to see you. Jack too. And I just moved in with Emily so you could stay at my apartment. It's just a few blocks away."

This was good. This was something for Emily to look forward to. Right now all they had on the horizon were bad things. The radiation beginning, the side effects, telling the team . . . telling her parents. But a holiday visit from his brother was something nice, normal.

This would make her happy.

Sean smiled softly, "okay then," he went over and flipped open his day planner, dragging his finger down the page, "I'll hand off party hosting to my partner and see you next Wednesday, okay?"

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "just email me your flight info and we'll see you at the airport."

"Will do big brother," Sean tapped his finger on the desk as he said softly, "give my love to Emily."

"Yeah," Hotch cleared the lump out of his throat, "Merry Christmas Sean."

And he hung up before he started to get emotional.

Sean looked down at the buzzing phone in his hand.

"Merry Christmas Aaron," he whispered back. And then he put down the phone and opened his laptop.

He needed to book a flight.

/*/*/*/*/*/*

Hotch paused in the upstairs hallway for a moment trying to think of the best approach to make this announcement to Emily. Though the end of it was good news, the beginning was not. Because last week she had very specifically decided that she didn't want to tell anyone about her cancer yet. And what had he just done?

He groaned . . . told his brother about her cancer.

Hopefully she wouldn't be _too_ upset though. After all at least he hadn't told HER family that she was sick. Now that . . . he bit his lip as he flashed back on their conversation over the weekend . . . _that_ would have been bad.

Emily didn't want her parents to know about the tumor. And her feelings went well beyond the understandable reluctance to share bad news with loved ones. She was _adamant _. . . in that this topic was not up for discussion adamant . . . about keeping this from them.

Indefinitely.

Of course regardless of her current feelings on this issue, Hotch knew that eventually of course she _was_ going to have to tell them. This was much too serious a situation to hide. She had months of treatment and recovery ahead of her, and even though her prognosis was good . . . she still had cancer. As much as it pained him to think about, prognosis good didn't mean that things couldn't still go wrong.

That she still couldn't die.

And if something . . . his chest started to hurt . . . God forbid _did_ go horribly wrong, her parents would be completely blindsided. And that would be an avoidable cruelty if they just were told what was happening.

Also though, as a parent himself, Hotch had a different perspective on this situation than Emily. And knew without a doubt that in their position, he'd want to know if his child was sick. In fact he would probably be furious if that news was kept from him.

But . . . he sighed . . . one thing at a time.

He'd decided to drop the parents' discussion for now and bring it up again after the new year. They were still very early days now so he saw no reason to push it yet. Emily just needed some time to adjust before he broached the topic again.

Though as he finally turned and started down the stairs, Hotch tried to remember if they'd had any _specific_ discussion prohibiting mentioning her cancer to his family as well. As he thought back he was fairly sure that Sean had not been mentioned by name, but he was also fairly sure that his brother's inclusion had been implied in the "keep this to ourselves" mandate.

After all, if she'd wanted to tell Sean then she probably would have mentioned that when they were discussing when to tell him they were living together.

Oh well . . . he stepped off the last riser, giving his beloved a soft smile as she turned to look at him . . . tis the season for forgiveness.

"Honey," Emily's nose wrinkled as she held out one of the Christmas cards towards him, "who is this person?"

Despite his concerns about her reaction to his announcement, Hotch couldn't help his lips twitching slightly in amusement as he saw the clear disdain on her face.

"Well," he crossed over to the couch, "without even looking I'm going to guess from your expression that is the card from my cousin Mary Anne."

There had only been one card in his batch of mail that had put that same look on his face. His cousin was a bit of a hippie and every year she seemed to be topping herself in out and out flakiness. This year she'd done a family photo Christmas card. Unfortunately the word "tasteful" had apparently not been one of the mandates when they were having the discussion with the photographer.

Her entire family was dressed in nothing but fig leaves.

Hotch wasn't quite sure how Adam and Eve played into Mary Anne's telling of the birth of Christ but regardless of her reasoning, the picture of two adults and two adolescent boys in nothing but foliage was very disturbing.

Emily looked down at the card again and then back at Hotch.

"These people are actually _related_ to you?" She asked with disbelief.

Dear God . . . she scooted over slightly so Hotch could sit down . . . if this behavior was indicative of a previously unknown genetic defect in his family tree then she might have to consider adoption after all.

"Yes," Hotch dropped down on the couch next to Emily "she is my father's, sister's daughter. And that," he pointed at the card, "is her husband, Keith, and those are her boys Brendan and Cody," he paused for a second before adding the obvious.

"The family's a bit eccentric."

"Ya think?" Emily shot back sarcastically as she dropped the card back into the pile on the table. Then she realized that came out much bitchier than she'd intended.

These people were . . . hard as it was to believe . . . Hotch's family. And even if they were total weirdos she shouldn't make fun of them.

That was just rude.

So she turned to Hotch with an apologetic pout. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so um, well," she patted his knee, "that was rude. I apologize."

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he laced his fingers through hers, "it's okay. They're admittedly very different than well," he rolled his eyes, "anyone else we know, but Mary Ann means well, she's just a bit flaky. They moved out to California five or six years ago and she got into crystals and psychics and auras and all that metaphysical . . . stuff," he sighed, "I know she sounds strange but she's got a good heart."

Actually Mary Ann had been a corporate attorney until her oldest child had been diagnosed with leukemia at the age of eleven. She'd quit her job to take care of him but there was nothing to be done for him and he'd died less than a year later. It was after that loss that she'd started getting into all of the mumbo jumbo that seemed to offer her so much comfort now.

Feeling a punch in his chest, Hotch's fingers tightened around Emily's . . . of course you never can tell what grief will do to you. Losing someone you love can destroy your whole sense of self. And someday he'd tell Emily Mary Ann's story, why she was the way she was. But not today. Not only was it depressing on its face . . . and cancer related . . . but he knew that Emily already felt badly about what she'd said, and he didn't want her to feel any worse.

Emily tipped her head onto Hotch's shoulder as she looked down at the card again.

"Do you ever see her?"

She was trying to picture this person . . . in her fig leaf . . . having dinner in Hotch's home.

"No," Hotch shook his head, "like I said she's in California and they don't get back here much anymore. I don't think I've actually seen her since . . . well, it's been awhile."

Christ, he'd almost said the funeral.

"Hmmm," Emily murmured back noncommittally. She didn't want to say "good" . . . that would again follow under a rude response . . . but she couldn't deny that she was relieved that these people wouldn't be coming to visit anytime soon.

If those fig leaves were their regular choice of outfit she'd have to put plastic on the furniture.

Hotch stared down at Emily's fingers intertwined with his . . . and then he began talking about the other thing.

"I just did something that you probably aren't going to be too happy about, but I did have my reasons so if you'll try and hold off on being angry until I'm done talking."

Emily's brow wrinkled as she lifted up her head and turned to look at Hotch in profile.

"What did you do?"

Hotch's gaze remained fixed on their fingers as he responded softly.

"I told Sean about the tumor."

Seeing her knuckles start to clench up Hotch finally lifted his head and turned to look at Emily.

Oh yeah . . . he bit the inside of his cheek . . . she was pissed.

"Why would you do something like that after I _specifically_ told you that I didn't want ANYONE to know?"

Emily hissed as she yanked her hand out of his and jumped up.

What the FUCK?

Though Hotch's first inclination was to respond back defensively to her accusatory tone, he bit down on his temper as he stood up to face her.

"I had to," he continued in the same quiet timbre as he tentatively reached over to take her hand again.

But she still wanted no contact with him as she pulled away once more with another step back.

"Why did you have to mention it at all Aaron?" Emily asked through gritted teeth. "How _exactly_ did it come up? Did Sean just RANDOMLY happen to ask if either of us were recently diagnosed with a malignant BRAIN TUMOR?"

Hotch flinched at the pitch she reached at the end . . . they'd reached the yelling stage. So he closed his eyes for a moment and counted to ten. When he opened them he looked into her eyes and reminded himself what was feeding her anger.

Fear.

Fear that if they started telling people then those people would start treating her differently.

Treating her like she was sick.

"Sweetheart, please listen," he took a step towards her, "he called to invite us to New York for a New Year's Eve party and he wasn't taking no for an answer. It's a federal holiday and he already knew that we weren't on call next week so I had no good reason to decline an offer that we both know you'd love to accept."

Seeing her jaw begin to relax, Hotch again tried to take her hand . . . this time she let him.

"And I know this is your situation Emily," he took a breath before he said sadly, "but it's my situation too. And he's my brother and I couldn't lie to him about something so important," he tugged her closer, "okay?"

Emily bit her lip as she stared down at the floor for a moment, all of the anger draining out of her. Then she slowly dragged her eyes back up to his.

"Okay," she said softly before she sighed. "And I'm sorry for yelling," her fingers came up to brush along his jaw, "you're right, he's your brother and the decision to tell him was yours to make. I should have let you explain first before I reacted."

Her cancer wasn't just her cancer, they were a couple and her condition affected both of them. And it wasn't fair of her to ask him to keep _her_ secret from _his_ brother.

That was his relationship and she had no right to place a wedge between the two of them.

"It's okay sweetheart," Hotch pulled her into a hug as he murmured against her hair, "I know why you got upset, and I hope you know that I wouldn't have told him if I hadn't been boxed into a corner."

"I know," Emily whispered back on a sigh, "I know."

"Good," he kissed the top of her head as he rubbed her hand down her back, "then we're okay?"

"Of course," her eyes crinkled as she tipped her head back to look up at him, "it's going to be cold tonight and you're my own personal furnace. If you're going to sleep on the couch, then who's going to keep me warm in bed?"

His lips twitched, "how come in these scenarios that regardless of my status as the injured party, I'm always the one that's expected to sleep on the couch?"

"We've been over this Aaron," she leaned up to smack a happy kiss on his lips, "you're too much of a gentleman to kick me out of bed."

Hotch huffed down at Emily in amusement before pulling her back against his chest again . . . she knew him too well. Fortunately the fictional couch sleeping scenario continued to remain fictional. And neither of them were the type to go to bed angry . . . especially given her current condition . . . so it's unlikely that he'd ever have to drag his blanket and pillow downstairs anyway.

Suddenly remembering that he'd forgotten to share the good part of his conversion with Sean, Hotch patted her back.

"I almost forgot to tell you that I have good news too."

Emily tipped her head back to give him a little smile.

"What's that?"

"Because we can't travel, Sean's going to come down and see us for New Year's. I told him that he could stay at my apartment," Hotch's eyebrow went up as he looked down at her, "sound good?"

Emily's face lit up, "yeah, that sounds great," she looped her arms around Hotch's neck.

"So we've got a busy week, huh? The party tomorrow night with JJ and Will, Jack and Santa coming Thursday night, Christmas Thursday day, radiation Monday, and Sean coming," her eyebrow went up, "Wednesday?"

Though she was terrified to start the radiation treatment, part of her wished that it had begun already. Right now it was something that she was dreading, and she was really hoping that wasn't going to put a damper on her Christmas plans this week. Of course she was also hoping that her headaches wouldn't completely RUIN her Christmas plans either.

The last few days her symptoms had been fairly low key, a couple dizzy spells and a few minor headaches that she'd been able to control with just regular Tylenol. But she knew that soon enough things were going to start taking a turn, that not long from now Tylenol would stop being a magic bullet and she was going to have to break out the hard stuff.

She just wanted to get through this one week though . . . get her Best Christmas Ever with her Best Guy Ever under her belt . . . and then she'd accept whatever came after.

Hotch nodded, "yep, Wednesday," then he bit his lip, "sweetheart, are you sure that you want to go to this party tomorrow night?" His brow wrinkled in concern, "after a full day at work that's going to be a lot of hours on your feet."

This was the Women in Law Enforcement party that she'd asked him to take her to last month when they were in Atlanta. And he knew that she'd been looking forward to it, but he was just worried that she was trying to do too much, cram too much living into these few days before her treatment started and the exhaustion and the other side effects would begin to take their toll on her.

Hearing the note of concern in his voice, Emily gave Hotch a soft smile.

"I'm sure. I know it's going to be a long day but I really do want to go. I want to see JJ and I want to eat cheese puffs and shrimp cocktail and dance with my guy," a hint of sadness touched her smile, "I just want everything to be normal. And I promise that if I start to get tired that I'll tell you. I just want to go for a little while," she touched his cheek, "okay?"

"Okay," his eyes crinkled slightly, "if you're sure." Then his gaze shifted over to check the time on the cable box, "but if we're going to the party then maybe we should go to bed a little early tonight."

The only way she was going to be able to do everything she wanted to do this week was if she got enough rest.

Emily's eyes also snapped over to the clock before she nodded, "yeah," she looked back at him, "you're probably right," and then she gave him a little grin, "but could you maybe run me a bath while I make some cocoa?"

Hotch smiled as he started walking her towards the stairs, "of course sweetheart. But why don't you just go lie down. I'll run your bath and bring your cocoa up when it's done."

Though it was barely nine thirty, Hotch could the little shadows under her eyes . . . she was tired. And as she looked up at him he could see that she was debating whether or not she wanted to admit to that fact. But then she nodded.

"Okay," she gave him a little smile, "thanks honey."

When this was all over she was going to owe him about two years of being waited on hand and foot.

"Good," his eyes crinkled as he scooped her up, "then let's get a move on."

She started to laugh.

"Aaron," Emily giggled as he started carrying her up the stairs, "I'm not THAT tired!" And she saw him wink at her.

"The bath/cocoa resort plan comes with couch to bed service," they stepped onto the landing and he looked down at her with a soft smile. And she thought he was going to say something sweet and romantic but instead she heard, "how about tomorrow night we try it piggy back style?"

And her lips twitched.

"Sure."

_

* * *

A/N 2: So this was a totally new chapter. Hotch's brother didn't exist in the first version of the story, but now that they have a good relationship with him going from Girl, it was only logical that there be some inclusion of his reaction to the news and his role in their life during this time. Ditto for JJ and Will. As she'd still be on maternity leave, and Emily will be going on medical leave within the month, it was also logical that there would be bonding there with them both out of the office. And I had written the Women in Law Enforcement holiday party with JJ and Will in attendance as a chapter for Girl, but I never did find a good place to put it there. Which is fortunate because minimal tweaking is required to make it work for this next phase of their lives._

_And that fig leaf Christmas card was not simply a product of my imagination. You can actually see that on Awkward Family Photos . com. It's really just very wrong. _

_Okay, so please let me know what you think about the new stuff. Feedback still feeds the muses folks :) I'm going to TRY to get the party chapter up by Monday but I'm trying to get updates polished in a few stories so I'll do the best I can._


	5. Continuing Adventures of Clark & Lois

**Author's Note: **

Beginning here with a sad real life note:

Most of you active on the site probably know that JWynn, (Julia), one of our fellow writers passed away last month. Anyone who had the pleasure of corresponding with Julia will attest that she was, to borrow a term from where I grew up, "good people." Cheerful and enthusiastic, and just somebody who could brighten your day simply by turning up in your inbox. And the reason I'm mentioning her here now on this story is because it's public knowledge now that Julia had a brain tumor and clearly, this is a story about a woman with a brain tumor. And this is the first time I've posted here since she died. A few months ago when I was planning on putting this story up again, Julia was not doing that well and that's when I found out she was sick and I actually held the repost for a few weeks until I'd talked to her. All of these little stories we write are simply meant as diversions from our own real life problems, and I know from correspondence that many of my readers have gone through personal tragedies or illnesses that have been touched upon in my writing. I have as well, that's where much of this stuff comes from. But actually knowing that somebody I talked to was reading my story about a woman with a brain tumor WHILE that person was also undergoing real life treatment for a brain tumor was, as you can imagine, somewhat surreal. And for a little while I had no desire to work on the story because I felt like I was being insensitive to her situation.

Fortunately we did end up talking though and she told me that she was actually looking forward to it going up again and that made me feel so much better. And I felt really good when I got reviews from her on The Hours because, to my mind, she was giving it her blessing. That meant a lot. And because Julia has been, and will continue to be, on my mind as I write these chapters dealing with this terrible illness, I would like to dedicate the remainder of this story to her.

So this is for Miss Julia, a really sweet girl who was taken much too soon.

And now that I've made myself sad again, we'll move to the trivialities of fake life to cheer myself up. Fortunately this is a lighter chapter. It picks up the next evening after Hotch's conversation with Sean. They're off to the Women in Law Enforcement party with JJ and Will. This will be in two parts because the latter half, I want to do some more work on but the beginning was done. And I thought 4000 words was long enough to post.

The title here comes from a chapter of Girl, Clark & Lois. And again, this is a brand new chapter, it didn't exist in the first incarnation of the story.

* * *

_Late December: Tuesday Evening  
_

**The Continuing Adventures of Clark & Lois**

Hotch quickly zipped up his pants before yanking on his new green dress shirt. Then he began hurriedly working his buttons as he stepped out of the walk-in closet.

As his eyes shot across the room to the alarm clock he saw that it was twenty-two after seven.

Crap . . . his front teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he worked the last two buttons on his shirt . . . they were running SO late for the party!

And he'd had such a good plan for tonight too. He'd sent Emily home at five so she could get in a solid nap to rest up before they went out. And then he was supposed to leave the office at 5:30 so he'd be home a little after six. Then he would wake her up and she was supposed to take her shower while he fixed them a light dinner. Then he would shower while she did her hair and makeup. They'd be out of the house by seven fifteen at the latest.

It was a _solid_ plan.

Unfortunately his solid plan had gone straight to hell when he'd gotten stuck on a conference call with the Chicago PD. They had of course called _just_ as he was walking out the door. And though he would have loved to have just rescheduled their discussion for the next morning, unfortunately . . . given the nature of their call . . . that just wasn't an option.

Chicago had a subway rapist that had struck six times since Thanksgiving, twice just in the last two weeks. Those last two victims were STILL in intensive care so it was obvious that things were escalating at an alarming rate. And in a situation like that it's not as though he could have said to the three detectives on the conference call, "sorry guys, that's really unfortunate but I gotta go. I have a Christmas party tonight."

Yeah . . . he huffed to himself as he went over to dig out his cuff links . . . that clearly wasn't happening. So he was on the phone with those detectives for almost a full hour. He knew it was that long because he'd been staring at the clock the whole time they were talking and he'd slammed down the phone at 6:27. Then he'd run like hell through the bullpen, down the fire stairs and into the parking garage. After he'd peeled out of the Academy he'd started frantically calling Emily's cell phone.

Except she didn't answer.

He was supposed to have woken her up when he got home . . . except he hadn't gotten home. And she had turned off the ringers on both the house phone and her cell because she figured that he'd be along right behind her and she wanted a good half hour of uninterrupted sleep before he woke her up.

Again, a nice solid plan that had gone completely to hell. Because he'd broken every speed limit in the Commonwealth only to run into the apartment at 6:57 to find Emily still sound asleep on the couch.

After waking her up with a kiss and a fervent apology, he'd sent her up to get a shower while he heated up a couple of Peanut Chicken Lean Cuisines in the microwave.

Not exactly what he'd been planning on making her for dinner, but at least they were nutritious.

And most importantly, they were fast.

He'd made Emily come into the bedroom to sit down and eat with him before she'd run back in to finish drying her hair while he'd jumped into the shower.

Now she was doing her makeup and he . . . Hotch fixed his second link . . . just needed to put on his socks and shoes and he'd be ready to go.

All things considered, they were making good time.

After he'd grabbed a pair of black socks out of the dresser, Hotch stepped back into the closet to dig out his good shoes which he should have grabbed three minutes earlier when he'd been in there pulling on his pants.

Once his hands were full of the necessary footwear items, Hotch moved over to the end chair, dropping the shoes on the floor before dropping himself down onto the cushion to pull on his socks.

The party began at seven thirty and clearly it was just gauche to show up exactly when it started. So . . . he took a breath to calm down as he pulled on the first sock . . . they'd be a little late.

He yanked on the second sock . . . not a big deal.

Really, as far as he was concerned they were just going for a couple of hours so Emily could have a bit of fun. So if their time was reduced from three hours, to two, well . . . he slipped on the first shoe . . . that was probably for the best anyway.

It was cold and flu season and he really didn't want Emily around all those people and their germy handshakes and phlegmy coughs. With her starting radiation next week, it was imperative that she not get sick right now, so the less exposure in a large crowd, the better.

Yes . . . the rest of his panic about how late they were running began to leave him . . . two hours was plenty of time to steal her some cheese puffs, perhaps a plate of jumbo shrimp and take a few turns around the dance floor.

A soft smile touched Hotch's lips as he paused to look over at Emily's emerald green gown lying on the bed . . . yeah, two hours was plenty of time to have some fun. Especially given that JJ was going to be there tonight too.

Emily was _thrilled_ that she was going.

And though Hotch had been outwardly a bit more reserved in his reaction to that news, in actuality he was probably as excited as Emily was to see their friend.

God did he miss her.

He shook his head . . . but she'd be back soon. Well . . . he pulled on his second shoe . . . soon enough.

One more month.

This really was an unexpected treat seeing her over the holidays though. It was just this past weekend that Emily had talked her into attending the WLE party with them. And this was actually the first night out for her and Will since Henry was born so Emily had to really pull out all the stops to get her to agree to come with them.

Actually Emily had told him that initially JJ had flat out refused to go.

Apparently she was uncomfortable with how slowly she was losing her baby weight and Emily had warned him that it was a "sensitive topic" and it would be best not to bring it up. He had rolled his eyes at Emily then, and as he thought back on that moment he rolled his eyes again as he laced up his first shoe.

As though he would EVER in a million years bring up JJ's waistline! He'd be about as likely to ask her about her weight as he would about her sex life.

Which was NEVER!

Besides that though, she had come into the office once a few weeks after the baby was born and he'd thought she'd looked just fine. So he was quite sure that tonight she was going to look like her usual lovely self regardless of JJ's personal perceptions on this matter.

Though as Hotch thought about how sensitive Haley had been about her weight after Jack was born, he made a mental note to remember to actually TELL JJ that she looked nice. Then as he tied off his second lace, he made a second mental note to remember to _not_ do it when he first saw her or she'd think that it was just a perfunctory compliment. Or worse, that Emily had said something to him and that was the only reason he was remarking on her appearance. Granted that _was_ the reason he was planning on commenting on her appearance, but it wasn't going to detract from the sincerity behind it.

JJ was a very attractive woman, period, end of story.

Jesus . . . Hotch shook his head in exasperation as he stood up . . . he'd forgotten how much of a minefield it was dealing with women's personal insecurities about their weight! And JJ wasn't even his girlfriend!

Speaking of his girlfriend . . . Hotch brushed out the wrinkles in his dress pants as he walked over to the bathroom . . . she should hopefully be just about done now with her hair and makeup.

Still looking down at his brand new, only twice worn tuxedo pants looking to spot any miniscule defects, Hotch called through the half open bathroom door.

"Sweetheart, are you about ready to go? I told JJ and Will we'd meet them there no later than seven forty-five and it's already seven," he lifted his head as he stepped onto the bathroom tile, "thirty. And there's no way that we're getting to the Mayflower in the next fifteen minutes so I really need to let them know what time to expect us."

Pausing just as she was about to spray her hair, Emily turned to give Hotch a little smile over her shoulder.

"Two minutes," she turned back to the mirror, squinting before she started to spritz, "everything else is done, I just need to put on my fabulous new dress."

The fabulous new dress had been an early Christmas present from Hotch. It wasn't until this weekend when she'd been staring at the new black cocktail dress that she'd bought for the case in Atlanta that she realized with all of her recent bumps and bruises that her planned outfit for the party revealed entirely too much skin.

At best she would have looked like she'd just been in a car accident. At worst, it would have looked like she'd just taken a severe beating.

Either way, clearly those were _not_ the looks she was going for. And God knows she couldn't justify the expense of yet _another_ new dress this season . . . that would have been her FOURTH since September . . . so she'd resigned herself to wearing an older blue sequined one that she had in the back of the closet.

It was long and it came with a matching shawl that would cover the still fading marks on her arms.

But Hotch had known that she'd been disappointed, and he'd been with her when she'd commented in the beautiful Emerald green silk gown hanging in the window at Nordstrom's. It was long and slinky, with a loose bodice, sleeves to the elbow and just one high slit up the side for a little bit of oomph.

It was absolutely perfect.

It was also four hundred and seventy-five dollars . . . and last night Hotch had surprised her with it when they'd gone up to bed. He said it was an early Christmas present.

And she'd wiped away the tears running down her face as she kissed him and told him that he was definitely the best boyfriend ever.

She shot him a little smile as she put the hairspray back on the counter . . . she was thinking about having a plaque made up.

Hotch gave Emily's spray a moment to dissipate before he walked across the bathroom.

"As fond am I am of the new dress," he said with a smirk as he walked up behind her, "I'm very okay with seeing you dressed just the way you are right now."

At present she was wearing a black lace teddy with a matching set of lace garter belts and silk stockings.

She looked unbelievably sexy.

And really, if this night hadn't been so important to her he would definitely be taking the opportunity to christen their relationship in yet another new location.

They hadn't yet tried out the bathroom vanity.

Emily chuckled at Hotch in the mirror as his arm slipped around her waist from behind.

"Really Aaron," she asked with her own smirk as he pulled her back against his chest, "you'd be _totally_ fine with me leaving the house like this?"

Like hell. Last night when she'd modeled her dress for him he'd smiled and told her she looked beautiful. But she hadn't missed the worried eyebrow he'd tried to hide when he saw just how high the slit up her side was.

He hadn't said anything though.

And that was why she was rewarding him for not being one of those men . . . the Neanderthal 'no woman of mine' kind . . . by wearing the lace teddy and garters under the dress rather than regular underwear and panty hose. She sighed as he lifted her hair and pressed his lips to her skin . . . it was a treat for him.

His own early Christmas present that he could open when they got home.

"Not at all," Hotch murmured back as he began kissing his way along the curve of her neck, "I said I was very okay_ seeing_ you dressed that way, I did NOT say I was fine," he began nibbling a little mark of ownership as he finished with a mumble, "with anyone ELSE seeing you that way."

Seeing that slit up her thigh last night had nearly killed him. The only thing that kept his tongue holstered was the knowledge that everything above the slit and beneath the silk was now for his eyes exclusively.

The rest of the world was welcome to be envious from afar.

And provided that none of those envious men tonight did anything stupid like try to touch or talk to his girl . . . he gently sucked on her neck . . . then he wouldn't have to kill anyone.

Emily felt a little shiver go through her body as Hotch's lips moved slowly up to her earlobe and back down to her neck again. And knowing that JJ would definitely notice . . . and comment on . . . a fresh hickey, Emily knew she had to put a stop to the little "this one's taken" marks Hotch was attempting to put on her neck.

Just because he'd been good about not saying anything didn't mean that he wasn't still going to be doing everything that he could to ward attention away from her.

Not that she wanted attention from anyone but him, she just wanted to feel sexy tonight. It was probably the last time for months that she was going to feel well enough . . . or look good enough . . . to get dressed up and go out, and she just wanted to make the best of it.

But she really did want to avoid any hickey conversations too.

So with a weary huff she reluctantly swatted him away from her neck before shifting around in his arms. Though she'd hated to stop the kissing . . . it didn't matter where his lips were, Hotch was a great kisser . . . when he pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her temple, she again released another sigh of contentment.

With Hotch if you have to close a door, he always opens a window.

Then she heard him whisper in her ear.

"If you can find a turtleneck to wear under your dress, I can go back to what I was doing."

Emily snorted before lifting her head to look up at him.

His eyes were twinkling.

She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him before pulling away with an amused shake of her head.

"It's unlikely that we'll be playing strip poker at the party tonight Aaron so I don't think the turtleneck is going to work as part of my ensemble. Besides," she patted his cheek, "you're the one that just told me we had to get a move on," her eyebrow went up, "and we both know that if you go back to what you were doing there's no way that we're getting out of this house before eight."

Making love to Hotch was of course her new . . . and had immediately become her all time favorite . . . pastime, but she really did want to go to this party too. Fortunately though she really didn't have to choose between the two activities, one was just going to be delayed for a few hours.

Hotch's eyebrow shot up incredulously as he looked down at the teddy/garter belt combo, "EIGHT? You think we'd be done by EIGHT?" He huffed as his hands slid along the lacy material, "we'd still be working on round one at eight. Oh no," he kissed her nose before sighing as he pulled her back against his chest. "We'd be here until at least ten," he murmured against her hair, "and I really do think JJ and Will would notice if she showed up that late."

"Yes," Emily chuckled against his chest, "I concur. Given that we're probably the only people they'll know tonight, they would most likely notice if we showed up three hours late." Then she tipped her head back with a little grin. "I like the way you think though, so how about we reconvene here when we get home and you can show me all the fun activities you'd have planned for us if we stayed in tonight?"

Hotch gave her a soft smile.

"If you're not too tired when we get back," he leaned down to give her a quick kiss, "then absolutely."

Seeing the look she was giving him as he pulled away, Hotch shook his head.

"Uh, uh, don't make me the bad guy. We agreed the other night, that if you're already over tired then no additional exertion if you're not getting extra sleep to compensate."

Granted, so far they hadn't yet had to implement this rule, but Hotch was trying to remain cognizant of it's existence.

Suddenly flashing on that exact conversation, Emily's faint scowl morphed to a look of resignation as she sighed, "you're right," her eyes crinkled slightly as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, "I'm sorry, we did agree."

Then her smile brightened. "And I'm sure everything will be fine tonight. I know it's a long day but I did get that extra long nap, and right now I don't have a headache," then she quickly leaned over to tap the baseboard as she added superstitiously, "knock wood."

The headaches were still coming and going. And she'd had a fairly bad one that morning so she was hoping that they were gone for the day. She knew that it didn't actually work like that, but keeping a good thought never hurt anyone.

Hotch rewarded Emily's confidence with a little smile back.

"I'm sure everything will be fine tonight too. Though," he looked down at his watch, wincing slightly when he saw it was now almost 7:40, "we really do need to get going." He let go of Emily, stepping away with a squeeze of her fingers as he backed out of the bathroom.

"I'll call Will and tell him we'll be there no later than eight fifteen," his eyebrow rose expectantly, "we can make that right?"

Emily smiled back, "absolutely," she shooed him towards the door, "I'm just going to the bathroom then dress and shoes. Really honey, I promise I'll be downstairs in less than five minutes."

As Emily shut the door in his face, Hotch spun around the bedroom to see if they were forgetting anything.

Her dress and evening bag were on the bedspread, heels on the floor.

Okay, so she was good. He did a quick mental check of his own appearance and nodded . . . good to go. So he hurried over to the closet to grab his jacket off the hangar, slipping it on as he headed out into the hall.

Two minutes later he was taking their wool coats out of the downstairs closet when he heard Emily call down to him.

"AARON, WHY IS YOUR TIE HANGING ON THE DOORKNOB?"

Hotch blinked and then looked down to see he was wearing his plain green dress shirt . . . and no tie.

He rolled his eyes.

Idiot.

His jaw twitched at his own stupidity as he started jogging up the stairs again calling back to her.

"I DID THAT ON PURPOSE!"

The volume of his voice dropped as he saw her standing in the bedroom doorway in her new dress, dangling his necktie from her fingertips.

"I didn't want to get it dirty," he finished smoothly, hoping she wouldn't call him on the bullshit response. But he saw the smirk on her face as she handed him the tie and he knew that she was about to bust his balls.

"Uh huh," Emily's lips twitched as she pulled her hand back, "I know how often I have to wear a plastic poncho just walking down those stairs. There's debris flying everywhere. It's a wonder you didn't have to take another shower."

God forbid he simply _admit_ that he forgot to do something!

Hotch stared at Emily straight faced for a moment before his eyebrow went up.

"Fine, I admit it. I _forgot _to put on my tie. I made a mistake." Seeing the look of triumph on her face he couldn't resist adding with a smirk. "That's one."

Emily barked a laugh as she took his tie back and turned around so he could zip her up.

"It must be wonderful to be so perfect," she responded sarcastically as she felt the little teeth of the zipper pulling together.

"Actually I find it a bit of a burden," Hotch shot back as he set the hook on the top of her dress. Then his lips started to twitch as he felt the vibration of her laughter where his hand was resting on her back. She turned around in his arms.

"Poor baby," Emily pouted in mock sympathy as she looped the green silk over his neck, "what hell that must be for you stuck on this planet with us mere mortals."

Though she hated to admit it . . . and never would aloud . . . she couldn't really recall another recent instance where he'd actually made a mistake. This one she was tucking away though . . . she started working the knot on his tie . . . just in case she needed some ammunition in the future.

"Eh," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as his hands fell to Emily's hips, "there are some perks on this planet so I've learned to get by." His lip quirked up as he saw the good natured eye roll she shot him. Then he stood there patiently while she straightened out his knot and smoothed down his new tie and shirt bought specifically to match Emily's dress. When she started to brush off his shoulders too he raised his eyebrow.

"Are we ready to go now?"

"Yes, Aaron, _we_ are now both wearing all required elements of our evening wear, so WE are ready to go now." Seeing the look she got for reminding him why they were standing there, Emily patted his cheek before turning to go grab her purse off the bed. When she stepped back over the threshold she smiled at him as she squeezed his fingers.

"Come on Superman," she started leading him towards the stairs, "it's time to go experience an earth custom we call a _Christmas_ party."

Hotch rolled his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_A/N 2: The whole little end with Hotch forgetting his tie, that's actually because I forgot to have him put it on. Before I post I always do a last read through for continuity and then I picture their actions to make sure I followed the thread through the scene. As he was standing in the living I suddenly realized he was missing his tie, thank God Emily found it :) Odd how whenever I send them to a party there's always a whole chapter involving them getting ready. It's not intentional, it's just always how it goes. So there is a part two here and we'll see JJ and Will again. And that's just about done so it'll be up for the weekend._

_Before the weekend, the Aaron & Emily chapter and I'm hoping, Love, Unexpected because I think that's about done too._

_If you've left me a review and I haven't responded yet, as always thank you for the feedback!_


	6. The Bitter With The Sweet

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know, slowest repost EVER! But so many things always seem to conspire against getting these chapters cleaned up. But I do promise that we will actually get through Christmas Day here (a mere 36 hours away for them) before it arrives in real life.

**FIC AWARDS**: Thank you sooo much for all the nominations! I got a dozen! Wa Hooh! :) But seriously, thanks a lot everybody for all the nods. So now it's time for shameless self promotion, if you'd like to vote :) the final nominations ballot will be posted from October 22nd to November 30th and you can get to the link through my profile page.

Anyway, enough about me, let's get to why you're all here, the story :) If you'll recall, the last chapter was them getting ready for the party. This is a continuation of the evening, picking up about an hour into their little shindig.

* * *

**Prompt Set #13 (December)**

Show: Maude

Title Challenge: The Office Party

* * *

**Prompt Set #23 (October)**

Show: Saved by the Bell

Title Challenge: The Friendship Business

* * *

_Late December: Tuesday Evening_

**The Bitter With The Sweet**

Hotch sidestepped around two slightly intoxicated couples as he circled Emily around the dance floor for the second time since they'd arrived at the holiday party.

A quick glance down to his watch told him that it was 9:17, and thus far . . . Emily started to laugh as he twirled her over to the corner . . . they'd been having a hell of a good time tonight. And if God could grant them a little luck . . . and one huge favor . . . then hopefully they'd be able to stay out at least another hour.

Maybe an hour and a half.

But if Emily started to get tired, or he saw her begin to rub her temple . . . an indisputable indicator of an impending headache . . . then they would most likely have to leave. Though if they had to leave because Emily was _sick_, and not because she was _ready_, then Hotch knew that was going to place a serious damper on her memories of the evening. So basically he was just praying for one more hour without incident.

And so far the evening had been completely incident free.

They'd arrived at the party at 8:12 . . . three minutes ahead of the revised schedule thank you very much . . . and headed directly over to the previously agreed upon meeting location (aka the coat room) to apologize to JJ and Will for keeping them waiting. Well, that's what Hotch did . . . apologize that is . . . Emily decided to go a different route. She looked at JJ for two beats before they both squealed loud enough to make him wince. Then they threw their arms around each other and began hugging and hopping as they started gushing a mile a minute about how fabulous the other looked.

For two women who were ordinarily the picture of grace and decorum, it was a sight to see.

But Hotch's assessment of this uncharacteristically "feminine" behavior was that it had just been _entirely_ too long since the two women had seen each other. And really, it had been close to six weeks, which was an eternity when you're used to seeing somebody every day. In fact, seeing how excited they were he hadn't had the heart for even a gentle teasing of their fawning hellos and manic hugging.

How could he?

Between the incident in Montana, the fallout with Morgan and the cancer diagnosis, it had been a terribly hard month for both him and Emily. And for just a few minutes JJ had made his girl deliriously happy.

That was a joy too sweet to mock.

Fortunately Will seemed to be of the same mindset, because the two of them had simply exchanged amused headshakes over their girlfriends' heads before Hotch jerked his thumb over his shoulder and the men headed off to get drinks.

Non alcoholic drinks of course. JJ was still breast feeding and Emily's new medications all had big Xs on them when it came to consumption of alcoholic beverages. And because the men were trying to be supportive of their women, they too were abstaining from any liquor consumption.

Not that Will knew that's why Hotch and Emily were tee totaling that evening.

In fact he assumed it was simply that they were being polite to the other couple, and he actually thanked Hotch for not tempting him with a beer. Given the litany of questions that would have followed if he'd said anything to the contrary, Hotch felt no need to correct any misconceptions on that front. So when he and Will returned to their respective partners, they settled into the lounge area with the diet sodas, (the women) and a small plate of cheese puffs that Will had snagged off the buffet table.

They were JJ's favorite.

But of course Emily immediately had asked Hotch where _her_ favorite was . . . the expected plate of "ginormous" shrimp. So he'd had to regretfully explain that they'd arrived too late, that the waiter told him that the jumbo shrimp were part of the first round of hors oeuvres.

That they'd run out _just_ before they arrived.

Hotch had actually winced when the waiter broke that distressing news to him. As he'd discovered months ago, the jumbo shrimp consumption was one part of the party going experience that Emily particularly enjoyed. She'd even been chattering about in the car. Really, next to the dancing, it was her favorite thing about getting dressed up and leaving the house. And given that she had missed said shrimp consumption because_ he_ was an hour late getting home from the office, Hotch had known . . . dire work emergency or not . . . this development was going to get him into trouble.

He had been correct.

Her face had scrunched up in disappointment right before her brow knitted together in a little scowl. The scowl had been accompanied by poke in the chest and the proclamation that he now owed her a trip to Red Lobster where she would be allowed to pick two menu items of her choosing of which the subtotal would not exceed fifty dollars American.

Now the fact that his punishment for her missing FREE shrimp was her requirement that he pay upwards of forty-nine ninety nine for a basket of replacement seafood would be considered by most as "punitive" damages above and beyond the compensatory loss. And under other circumstances Hotch might have bartered for a sentence reduction. However tonight, this was not a point he had even considered quibbling over. Emily had _really_ been looking forward to that shrimp. And he was _really _hoping to get laid again before Christmas. To that end he had been nodding solemnly before his punishment had even finished passing her lips.

Sometimes it was best to just say uncle.

And once amends had been made for Emily missing her favorite seafood . . . a highly amused JJ shoving a half dozen cheese puffs into her friend's hand had helped move forgiveness along . . . Hotch and Will had talked shop for the next half hour as the women discussed Henry, the holidays and everyone's least favorite FBI Agent.

Jordan Todd.

Though he was only listening with half an ear, Hotch could hear the generous bell curve with which Emily had graded Jordan's performance to date. But the sugar coating was necessary so that JJ wouldn't feel guilty . . . or worse . . . stressed, about what was happening in the office while she was on leave.

After all, she was the one that recommended Todd as a temporary replacement. An action Hotch wasn't holding against her at all. Again, Jordan looked more than competent on paper, and he too had met with the woman before she started. He had signed off on her. And back in October she had seemed to be a perfectly acceptable fill in. If only she'd walked into her interview wearing a sign indicating that she was in fact a repressed neurotic severely lacking in emotional maturity who did not function well in high stress situations.

Yeah . . . he rolled his eyes slightly . . . a sign like that really would have saved him a lot of grief.

Honestly, it would be really helpful if _everyone_ wore a sign like that. One that listed all of their quirks and idiosyncrasies right up front. That would be great, because contrary to many people's assumptions, profiling wasn't a form of prognostication. Yes, it did give him some general advantages when it came to sizing people up, but at the end of the day everyone had their own baggage, and most of that baggage . . . and the resulting psychological neuroses that came with it . . . wasn't apparent until you got to the know the person better.

And boy had he _ever_ gotten to know Jordan Todd.

Okay . . . a smidge of Emily's more kindhearted nature annoyingly poked its way into his internal thoughts . . . granted, Jordan was getting a _little_ better about keeping that crap under control, but still . . . Hotch flashed on his temporary media liaison's countenance . . . he'd be ready to throw her a ticker tape parade when she headed back to the Counter Terrorism Unit.

So there was that . . . the catch up portion of the evening . . . and then the band had started up on _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ . . . Emily's favorite Christmas song . . . and she'd grabbed his hand, announcing to JJ with a grin that he'd promised her a cumulative sixty minutes on the dance floor to be broken up over two to four outings, and that she really needed to get the clock ticking before he reneged on the whole agreement.

JJ had laughed before tugging on her own date's fingers and playfully demanding the same sixty minute arrangement. Will had whittled her down to forty-five with complaints of his dress shoes causing blisters . . . and then they'd twirled off in the opposite direction.

Hotch had been relieved to see them go.

Not that he wasn't incredibly happy to see both JJ and Will . . . he absolutely was . . . he'd just wanted a little bit of alone time with his girlfriend.

Now that they were sleeping together he was certainly accustomed a great deal more "familiarity" with off duty Emily than he had been the last time the two of them had been out with JJ and Will three months ago. And the fact that he had to restrain from putting his hand on Emily's knee when they were sitting and talking to the other couple, had surprisingly thrown off his rhythm.

Since the news of her cancer had shaken their world he had become even more tactile with her than he had been before. Perhaps it was some silly little part of his brain that thought that as long as she was within his grasp then everything would be okay. Perhaps it was that. Perhaps it was just as simple as he loved her, but whatever it was he'd been thrilled to get a few minutes alone together. Which was why at this moment on the dance floor, the way he was holding Emily wasn't exactly decorous . . . or wise . . . given their surroundings.

But . . . he rested his chin on the top of her head . . . he didn't really much give a shit.

They certainly weren't trying to advertise their relationship . . . he had been keeping his lips to himself . . . but it was Christmas, his girlfriend had cancer, and their entire relationship was going to become public knowledge within the next six weeks anyhow. So, as far as he was concerned, on the off chance that anyone they knew actually was paying them any attention, if he or she chose to infer . . . _correctly_ . . . that perhaps his feelings for the woman in his arms were a bit more than professional well, that person was welcome to do so.

Really though, with the exception of JJ and Will who were on the other side of the dance floor, Hotch didn't think that anyone else in the room would find their physicality all that interesting. It's not like they were dancing in the middle of the bullpen. This was a cross agency party, and though they knew a few of the guests casually, those people didn't necessarily know that he and Emily had a chain of command issue. And even if they were aware of that information, at best the intimacy of their interactions tonight would be considered a minor piece of . . . as far as Hotch was concerned . . . totally uninteresting, gossip.

No, an earlier scope of the room had assured him that the only person in attendance that would really _care_ if they were sleeping together was Strauss. At that thought, Hotch realized that it had been a few minutes since he'd done a check to see if his boss was indeed paying them any attention.

As his gaze drifted across the room he saw her standing over by the main bar tossing back some kind of clear liquid. And given her general unsteadiness when they ran into her earlier . . . and the fact that the bar had been her primary location since she'd arrived tonight . . . Hotch would bet a week's pay that clear liquid was not water.

Though his boss was not generally known for over imbibing in front of a professional crowd, there was no doubt that she'd been hitting either the vodka or the peppermint Schnapps pretty hard tonight. And Hotch was quite sure that had something to do with the rumors he'd heard about Strauss' husband and the nanny.

Or, more specifically, the _ex_ nanny.

Not that Hotch was generally one to partake in gossip like that, but gossip like that was hard to miss. The news had spread through the division chiefs like wildfire. And then of course Dave had gotten his own salacious spin from God knows where.

So if the stories were right . . . and Hotch was pretty sure that they were . . . the husband and the twenty-three year old au pair had been caught in flagrante delecto . . . in the marital bed . . . by none other than the Section Chief herself when she came home early from a conference.

Dave also had added in a few details about sexual position and color of lingerie that Hotch was unsure if he had made up simply for his own amusement. Either way though, the gossip train all agreed that the husband was now staying in a hotel and the au pair had been drop kicked back to the city of lights faster than she could say, "oui madame, I have been screwing your husband."

And after all that completely humiliating personal drama, for some utterly mind boggling reason, rather than keeping a low profile this week, Strauss had decided to attend what was traditionally a warm and festive holiday party . . . all by herself.

As Emily had astutely assessed . . . awkward!

And awkward was definitely the word of the night there. And for anyone else Hotch would have felt genuine compassion and sympathy for her situation. But given that the woman had once tried to destroy his life, Hotch saw the whole scenario more as a _'what goes around comes around'_ type situation. Maybe now their scales would be even.

Suddenly flashing back on Strauss trying to enlist Emily to betray him, Hotch's jaw started to twitch . . . maybe not. He wasn't that big of a person.

Though . . . a thought came to him . . . perhaps if Strauss hadn't been such a conniving witch then he and Emily wouldn't have grown as close as they had. No . . . he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came . . . screw that. He and Emily were meant to be and Erin Strauss was getting absolutely ZERO credit for their current happiness.

Really, he was seeing this whole thing as karma kicking her ass for being such a God awful excuse for a human being. And she did seem to be too wrapped up in her personal problems to be paying much attention to anyone else at the party besides the bartender.

Which was exactly the way that they wanted it.

Really, if she'd been her usual self and started nosing around them or asking why they were there together . . . unlike the UN Gala, Emily's presence held no diplomatic chips for him tonight . . . Hotch would have just taken Emily home. This party was supposed to be a nice diversion, and the moment Emily started getting stressed for any reason then he was going to suggest she cash in her Red Lobster card tonight. Dancing or no dancing, he knew that was a surefire way to get her out the door.

Feeling a soft puff of air hit his neck, Hotch's arm tightened its hold around Emily's waist. And then he pressed his lips to her ear.

"Are you getting tired?" He asked softly.

"Mmmm," Emily murmured non-committally before tipping her head back to give him an eyebrow, "but we're not going home yet, okay?"

In response to her eyebrow, Hotch raised one of his own and she knew that he was sizing her up. The fact that she had not directly answered his question had clearly not escaped his notice. And if he asked the question again then this was going to become a conversation that she definitely didn't want to have right now. But fortunately after a second he tipped his head and nodded, "okay," and then he tucked her back against his chest.

As her head fell back against his lapel, Emily sighed in relief.

Thank God he let it go because any further discussion would have revealed that she wasn't actually tired at all. _That_ . . . her brow furrowed slightly in discomfort . . . wasn't the problem. The problem was that she could feel the faint tickling of another headache coming on. And that would be the second headache today. The third in twenty-four hours actually, and Hotch most definitely would have made an issue out of _that_.

That would have been a big deal.

But fortunately he hadn't asked if she had a headache . . . he'd asked if she was tired. And her response hadn't been a lie, she'd just totally ignored his question. More importantly though, he'd _allowed_ her to ignore his question . . . which was fairly unusual, usually he called her out on her crap immediately . . . so she didn't have to feel even a little bit guilty about being disingenuous.

Not that she was planning on keeping this headache from him all night, absolutely not. They didn't keep secrets like that . . . she felt a little stab of residual guilt . . . well, not anymore anyway. No, she was just going to keep this annoying little arrival to herself for a bit longer. Maybe a half hour, maybe less, it really depended on how bad it got.

It might seem silly to quibble over such a short period of time, but right now time was a precious commodity. And Emily knew that if she mentioned the headache to Hotch now . . . now before it was even really bothering her . . . then he would immediately start worrying. And that would immediately ruin the party for both of them. Because then in five minutes he was going to ask her how she was feeling, if she was ready to go home yet. And then regardless of what she said at the five minute mark, in ten minutes he was going to start working her towards the door. And then in fifteen minutes she'd be dealing with not only the brain tumor headache in her temple, but also a stress and tension one at the base of her skull as she attempted not to throttle the sweetest man on the planet as he attempted to forcibly remove her from the building. Now for obvious reasons . . . she gently patted Hotch's chest . . . she didn't want any of those things to happen.

Any evening that ended in cross complaint battery charges was not a good one.

Really it was possible that this headache would remain a very minor distraction and nothing more would come of it. And even if it didn't remain minor, the last few weeks had proven that generally she had a bit of time before the ache got bad enough to actually become painful. So as far as she was concerned right now, Emily thought with a bit of annoyance, the most important thing was to _not_ to let this disease run her life.

This was the first time that she and Hotch had been out together at a function since they'd become a couple. And it was two days before Christmas, the décor was beautiful, the band was top notch and her date was without a doubt the best looking guy in the room.

If not the hemisphere.

And they'd barely been out for an hour so the tumor could just suck it. She wasn't going to get chased from the party by an entity lacking sentience. That was bullshit.

Besides, she knew that regardless of whether or not this headache turned into something bad, Hotch had her turning into a pumpkin at ten forty-five. But that was almost an hour from now.

Hopefully they'd still be on the dance floor then.

Feeling her cell phone begin to vibrate in the small gold evening bag dangling from her wrist, Emily reluctantly picked up her head from Hotch's chest to slip the phone out.

Her eyebrow rose slightly in curiosity as she saw the screen.

"Text message from JJ," Emily murmured. And then to Hotch's surprise, he saw her curiosity turn to a scowl. Then she jabbed her fingers down on a few keys before shoving her phone angrily into her bag again. As her head dropped back onto his chest, he then heard a grumble of . . . eyebrow raising . . . obscenities being muttered under her breath.

_Ookaay._

Utterly bewildered, and more than a little amused, by what JJ possibly could have written to warrant that extreme a reaction from the normally sweet tempered woman in his arms, Hotch pressed his lips to her ear.

"So are you going to tell me what the text said that elicited that stream of profanity?" He whispered.

Emily tipped her head back so Hotch could properly appreciate her disgusted eye roll.

"The message was, and I quote, _'what's up with you and Hotch tonight? LOL!'_"

Seeing the residual scowl on his girlfriend's face, Hotch's lips started to twitch. Ordinarily he was better at hiding his amusement in public, but Emily was rather bizarrely irritated at a relatively innocuous . . . clearly not mean spirited . . . message, from her best friend. Hotch himself had already decided that whatever inferences were made tonight by their fellow party guests were fine with him.

Clearly an inference had been made.

Now granted, they weren't planning on telling the actual _team _about their relationship for a few more weeks, but this was JJ. Not only was she still on leave . . . and therefore outside the day to day gossip circles . . . but she was also the ONE person who had been privy to the more personal aspects of their relationship for months now. Really there wasn't anybody else in the BAU that they'd have considered "double dating" with tonight! So obviously she was the _last_ person that Hotch would expect Emily to get irritated with for making a comment about their relationship.

But irritated she clearly was, and his eyebrow rose in amusement as he looked down at her.

"I see," he cleared his throat, "and what pray tell did you write back to her sweetheart?"

Recalling that scowl before she pounded her finger down on the Send, Hotch was sure that it was nothing good.

"Oh it was just a little texting shorthand of my own Aaron," Emily responded with a sweet smile. Though as Hotch narrowed his eyebrows at her, the sweet smile turned to a smirk, "fine, I typed two letters," she paused, "F and U."

Seeing the look of triumph on her face, Hotch tried . . . and failed . . . to shoot Emily a proper glare before he lost the battle and his mouth started to quiver. But he quickly got that under control as he shook his head, bit the inside of his cheek and turned to find JJ in the crowd.

Because they had very particularly chosen to dance on the other end of the floor from their friends, it took Hotch a second to find them in the crowd. But then he caught a glimpse of what he thought was Will's head so he moved Emily two steps to the right so he could see better. Then he winced when JJ clearly came into view . . . ooh, she had _definitely_ just received Emily's text message. Though Jennifer Jareau was ordinarily a very lovely woman, Hotch did not consider the shade of red she was turning at that moment to be particularly flattering.

He also didn't envy Will right now. Because given the way she had just shoved the phone into his face, it looked like he was getting an earful. Actually she looked alarmingly like she did the day she found out that Reid had accidentally shredded a stack of her files that she'd put down on the corner his desk when she ran to the ladies room. And that was the day that Rossi and Morgan had to actually _lift_ her off the floor as they dragged her out of the bullpen kicking and screaming.

Reid had nearly cried.

And that was the look on her face right now.

Well . . . Hotch's jaw snapped shut . . . crap. That's not good. He started chewing the inside of his cheek . . . that's not good at all. And the special agent in charge part of his brain reminded him that it had been three days post shredding incident before it was safe for him to let Reid sit in on the briefings again . . . Garcia had to set up a special video monitor for him down the hall. And that part of his brain also reminded him that he should probably do something here before JJ decided to come over and "share" with Emily her exact feelings on the topic of her friend's text message.

Yeah . . . he nodded to himself . . . good idea Aaron, do something.

So to eliminate the possibility of bloodshed on either side . . . all things considered Emily's temper was far more volatile than JJ's . . . Hotch did a quick strategic assessment of their location in relation to JJ and Will's. It was a solid thirteen feet. But Hotch had seen how quickly JJ could move when she was running hot . . . Dave and Morgan both had bruises after her last blow up . . . so that thirteen feet was still at least nine feet too close.

They needed to move.

And a review of available pockets of space showed him that the best locale to keep their heads down until JJ cooled off would be the far corner of the dance floor. So with an annoyed huff he shifted Emily around and began working her across the room.

Once they'd reached a new bubble of space he rolled his eyes . . . okay, nine and a _half_ additional feet now gained.

Good enough.

As Emily leaned back against him once more, he could feel her smile against his chest.

"Are we safe now?" She asked with a snort.

Hotch craned his neck slightly to see what was happening across the room. After a few seconds there was a break in the flow of people around them and he could see the other couple with relative clarity.

Okay . . . he squinted . . . Will was rubbing circles on JJ's back and . . . he tipped his head again . . . she _appeared _to be slightly less agitated.

Hotch dipped his head down to whisper back, "yep, we're good." Feeling Emily's chuckle against his chest, Hotch felt a spark of exasperation and he couldn't help but lightly chastise her behavior.

"You need to be nice though Emily," he whispered in her ear, "don't forget that you're the one that talked JJ into coming tonight. And though I certainly understand your reasoning, you're also the one that decided we shouldn't tell anyone yet that we're a couple now. But just because we don't say the words doesn't mean that the change in our behavior isn't apparent to somebody who knows us well. So if JJ has noticed that we seem a bit . . ." he paused for a second as he tried to think of a word, "closer tonight than we were the last time she saw us, well, that's more than understandable, don't you think?"

Her amusement fading, Emily felt a stab of guilt at Hotch's words. And then a second later her eyes started to sting.

"You're right," she blinked away the tears before lifting her head to look up at him, "that wasn't nice. I'm sorry. I just," her eyes fell away from his as her voice faded, "I don't know, I just suddenly got really annoyed. This is the first time that we've been out together like this since we became a couple. And everything's so pretty and festive and it feels like a real date, like the one we didn't get to have," she pouted slightly as her head dropped back to his chest again, "I just didn't want her to call us on it," she murmured sadly, "I was afraid that if she did then the bubble would burst."

It hadn't helped that she had just been worrying that her damn headache was going to cut the evening short. But if life had taught her anything it was that there was always another way for the bubble to burst.

Like picking a fight with your best girlfriend for no good reason.

"I know sweetheart," Hotch rubbed his hand down her back as he murmured sympathetically, "I know. But she's still your best friend. And remember that her life has changed quite a bit this last month too. This is the first time that she and Will have been out since they became parents. And let me just tell you," he huffed slightly, "that's a big night. Not to mention, it is Christmas. So," he softened his tone further, "I think it would be nice if you tried to smooth this over before they leave. You don't want to have a silly little fight mar what should be a good night out for both of you," he squeezed her lightly, "agreed?"

He knew Emily, and he knew that when they got home tonight she was going to start feeling guilty about what she'd done. So better for her to clear up this little situation now than let it cause her any stress later. She had enough stress in her life already.

She certainly didn't need any more.

A sad smile touched Emily's lips before she lifted her head again.

"Agreed," she whispered back, "I promise I'll apologize before they go."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly before he tucked her under his chin again. "That's my sweet girl," he murmured against her hair.

It wasn't in Emily to be mean spirited. So he knew that as soon as he'd painted the situation in a different light for her that she'd do the right thing.

He pulled her into a quick hug.

She always did.

/*/*/*/*/*

_**Three minutes earlier**_

JJ couldn't stop grinding her teeth. Though Will had her pressed against his dinner jacket, she was ignoring his attempts to mollify her. Instead she was _seriously_ considering heading across the room and giving Emily Prentiss a piece of her mind.

How DARE she talk to her like that? Since when couldn't she take a little teasing? And since when did she think that an F YOU was the appropriate response to_ anything_, let alone a little JOKE!

God knows she loved Emily . . . JJ felt another surge of anger rise up . . . but sometimes she could be a real BITCH! And with that thought JJ lifted her head to shoot her friend another nasty look.

Except the other couple wasn't where they were a second ago.

What the . . . her brow knitted together . . . where the hell did they go?

And then she caught sight of them in the corner and she stopped, her irritation beginning to fade as she stared at them for a moment.

Similar to the way Will was holding her, Hotch was holding Emily. She was pressed completely against his body and Hotch was gazing down at her with a familiar look on his face.

It was a look JJ sometimes saw on Will when she first woke up in the morning . . . love.

They were in love.

Somewhere over these last couple months since she'd been out, they'd fallen in love. And given the way they were cuddled together . . . much more intimately than they had been when they were talking as a group . . . she was pretty sure that they were totally together now.

Oh . . . her anger now completely forgotten, JJ's eyes started to sting as she bit her lip . . . that's so sweet! So sweet in fact that she almost started crying . . . or maybe it was just the post partum hormones that were still kicking her ass . . . but either way she did start to tear up a little as she looked over the shoulder of the man she loved, at her best friend wrapped up in the arms of their boss.

Their boss.

Oh crap . . . JJ felt a surge of panic . . . their BOSS! Hotch was their boss!

JJ quickly whipped her head around hoping that nobody else in the room was paying them any attention.

Looks like . . . she let out a sigh of relief . . . no. Everyone was just wrapped up with their own good time. And JJ could see that Strauss now had her coat on and she seemed to be moving towards the door. Beyond that there wasn't anyone else there from the Bureau that JJ knew even well enough to nod hello to in the hall.

Not to say that Emily and Hotch didn't know some people that she didn't, but if they were high enough up the food chain to cause them any problem then JJ would have at least recognized them.

As she settled back against her fiance's chest with a huff, JJ also thanked the gods that Morgan wasn't there tonight. She knew from Garcia that Derek's Holiday Honey this year was an ATF agent working out of the Richmond office. And then Emily had mentioned that Morgan had told _her_ that he and his date might be going to the party tonight too. But given how late it was now, obviously they must have changed their minds.

Thank God.

If he had been here then he would have told Garcia about Hotch and Emily being all cuddled up at the party. And then Garcia would have made it her business to make it _everybody's_ business. Not that Pen's gossip was malicious, but a development like this would definitely have been big news within the team. And though she loved Penelope dearly, JJ she knew firsthand that sometimes . . . her fingers danced across Will's chest . . . personal business was personal business and nobody else's to know.

With that realization another thought suddenly came to JJ . . . God, no wonder Emily had been so mad at her text message! Back when she and Will were still trying to keep things quiet JJ would have been furious if somebody had commented on their interactions. You tend to get defensive about things that are important to you.

Things that you want to protect.

As JJ snuck another peek across the crowded room she began to wonder why they weren't making more of an effort to be discreet in public. Though as she stared at them, she realized that technically all they were doing was dancing. Yes, it was clear to her that they were now a couple, but that was because of the way Hotch had been looking at Emily a minute ago. Ordinarily it was hard to read more than a hint of emotion on his face so his feelings for her hadn't been so obvious when they were all talking earlier.

And Emily was always outgoing and physically demonstrative so ironically that made her as difficult a read as Hotch was in the reverse.

JJ's head snapped up when she felt Will tap her on the back.

"Hmm," she murmured in distraction, still looking over his shoulder.

"It's not polite to stare darlin'," he said with a little smile, and she felt a warmth creep along her cheeks as she shifted her gaze to give him a sheepish grin.

"Oops," she said on a chuckle as she hid her face in his jacket. "I didn't think I was being so obvious."

Clearly her surveillance skills were getting a bit rusty.

"Well," Will rubbed his hand along JJ's back, "you haven't been that engrossed in anyone besides the baby for the last eight weeks so yeah," he kissed the top of her head, "it was pretty obvious to me."

Though he was pleased to see that JJ no longer looked, as his MeeMaw would say, _'mad as a wet hen,_' it really wasn't polite to stare . . . even if you were no longer boring holes into the other person's body.

But as Will looked down to see that JJ's eyes were starting to tear up he realized that mentioning Henry was probably the dumbest thing that he could have done right now. Tonight was the first time that she had left the baby for longer than a trip to the mailbox. And after the perfunctory flashing of new pictures for Emily and Hotch, there had been a full moratorium on all topics Henry related. The thought being that the longer they could keep JJ distracted with other things, the more she would enjoy having grown up out of the house time.

A solid plan which he had just shot completely to shit.

'_Real good jackass,'_ he berated in his head as he leaned down to give her a kiss. As he pulled back he brushed his fingers along her cheek.

"I'm sorry honey," he said softly, "I didn't meant to make you sad. Do you want to go home now?"

JJ sniffled as she wiped the corner of her eye, "yeah, I'm sorry, but," she bit her lip, "yeah, I think I would like to go home now."

They'd gone to dinner before the party so it had been almost three hours since they left home. And though JJ had told herself that she could handle a solid four hours away from her baby boy, that was always assuming that she'd kept herself occupied. But now that Will had mentioned Henry that's all she could think about. Not that she hadn't been thinking about him all night anyway, but right now she was feeling like the worst mother in the world because she had actually _forgotten_ to think about him at all for almost ten minutes!

All that time she'd been angry at Emily, and then just speculating about her friends' new relationship, had completely pushed any thoughts of her son out of her head.

God . . . she felt wave of self loathing . . . what an awful mother she was!

Will looked down to see the mixture of guilt remorse on JJ's face and he kicked himself again. Then he pressed another kiss to her lips, and as he wiped the smears of mascara away from her eyes he gave her a little smile.

"Whatever you want darlin,'" he pulled her into a quick hug before murmuring against her hair, "let's just go say goodbye to Hotch & Emily and then we'll go home, k'?"

Making sure to brighten her voice so that Will wouldn't know how crappy she was feeling, JJ nodded against his chest.

"Sounds good."

Then she lifted her head up to give him a sheepish smile.

"And I promise that next time we'll make four hours."

"Hush now about that," Will gently chastised as he started leading her across the dance floor, "you're just being a good momma." Then, trying to think of something to make her laugh, he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"And maybe now we'll get home early enough to have a little of that new '_alone time'_ before the baby wakes up again."

The doctor had said it would still a couple of weeks before JJ's body was ready for actual intercourse, but a couple weeks ago they had found all kinds of fun activities could be had during _'alone time.'_ And as he saw JJ start to blush right before giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek, Will was happy to see that they were at least leaving the party on a positive note again.

And if things went well when they got home . . . he tucked her against his side . . . then all kinds of other things would be ending on a positive note too.

/*/*/*/*/*

Hotch looked up as he saw JJ and Will making their way through the crow. And seeing the soft smile JJ gave him as their eyes caught, he figured that she'd gotten past her earlier indignation at Emily's rude response.

He was glad to see that. Though he now understood both of their reactions, he didn't want any silly little disagreement resulting in any actual tension between the two women. Their friendship was too important for something like that to happen. And as the other couple walked up, Hotch tapped Emily on the shoulder before shifting her slightly to the side.

His eyes crinkled as he looked between Will and JJ.

"You two leaving?"

Not wanting JJ to be embarrassed about wanting to go home to see the baby, Will spoke first as he put his hand out to shake Hotch's free one.

"Yeah, we gotta get back to the babysitter. Fifteen bucks an hour, if you can believe it," he huffed, "I barely made that much as a rookie!"

Though she knew what Will was doing, she still flashed an amused eye roll in Emily and Hotch's direction.

"That is the _third_ time tonight that I've had to hear that speech," she said in affectionate exasperation, then she mocked the choice of words of her baby's father as she looked over at him, "'if you can believe it'."

Seeing the exaggerated scowl that Will shot back at her, Hotch's mouth quivered slightly . . . it was hard to believe that the two of them weren't already married. And then he heard Emily started to chuckle at his side right before she leaned up to give the transplanted Cajun a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

"Night Will," Emily chuckled as she pulled back.

A slightly embarrassed grin spread across Will's face as he saw both Emily _and_ Hotch were now laughing at him.

Oh well . . . he reached over to pick up Emily's hand . . . as jackass moments in his life went, this one wasn't even a blip on the radar. So he just smoothly moved on from the moment as he squeezed Emily's fingers.

"G'night Emily," he said with a little smile, "it was good seeing you."

"You too," Emily's lip quirked up for a second, but then her gaze shifted to JJ and she sobered, "both of you."

The two women stared at each other for a moment before Emily bit her lip. "I'm sorry for being bitchy," she with a little pout, "do you forgive me?"

JJ smiled softly, "of course I forgive you," she winked, "it's Christmas." And seeing the grateful smile Hotch gave her over Emily's head, JJ felt her eyes start to sting again.

God, they really were in love.

And as she saw him rub his hand supportively down Emily's back, JJ stepped forward to pull Emily a tight hug. Then she whispered in her friend's ear.

"I'd forgive you anything."

At JJ's words, Emily felt a wave of sadness for all of the secrets that she was keeping from her. And suddenly picturing JJ's reaction to the news about the cancer, tears sprang to Emily's eyes as she whispered back, "ditto."

Hearing the quiver in Emily's voice, Hotch put a hand on each of the women's backs as he leaned down to whisper to both of them. "Okay agents, no crying. You're having a good time tonight, remember?"

Between Emily's roller coaster month and JJ's postpartum hormones, he could see both of them were about to start bawling.

"Right," JJ sniffled as she lifted her head up and smiled at him, "we're having a good time tonight," and then she kissed Emily's cheek before stepping back.

Just as she was about to move over to Will again, an impulse struck her JJ turned . . . and before she could stop and think about what she was doing . . . she wrapped her arms around Hotch's waist.

That wasn't something that she'd ordinarily do . . . Hotch wasn't much for hugging . . . but she was just so happy for both of them! And she figured that he'd indulge her just this once. At best she thought she might get a little pat on the back in return. So she couldn't deny how surprised she was to feel his arms come around her in a full embrace. And then he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"We miss you."

And then he squeezed her tightly for two beats before he seemed to remember that he didn't hug and he quickly let her go.

When she looked up, JJ saw that there was a faint flicker of amusement on his face . . . he seemed almost as surprised at his behavior as she was . . . and then he winked.

JJ was so stunned that she almost burst out laughing. It was the first time that she could recall him being so open with her . . . with anyone really. Emily's influence was evident. So she gave him a watery smile as she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"I miss you too," she murmured against his skin, "but I'll be back soon."

And then she quickly pulled away, stepping back over beside Will again before she started crying.

Though the party was continuing to swirl along around them, for a moment there was silence amongst the four of them. And then Will clapped his hands together, "well, we gotta get going."

And the rest of them nodded with murmurs of "right, right," and the moment was broken.

Just before JJ and Will walked away the women exchanged promises to have the four of them get together soon. JJ smiled to herself as she realized that Emily was making plans for Hotch to do things, not only together, but without even discussing it first.

Oh yeah . . . her lip quirked up . . . they were pretty far gone.

As they stepped off the dance floor, JJ felt Will poke her gently in the side.

"Baby," he whispered in her ear, "why didn't you tell me that Hotch and Emily were datin'!"

JJ laughed.

/*/*/*/*/

Hotch watched the other couple disappear into the crowd before running his hand down Emily's arm.

"I'm glad you straightened things out with JJ."

Emily looked up at him with a sad smile, "me too. I was out of line." And then her smile brightened, and she was about to tell Hotch how proud she was to see him hug JJ all on his own, when she felt a stab of pain shoot through her temple.

'_Jesus CHRIST!'_

Seeing the flash of agony on Emily's face, Hotch felt a surge of adrenaline hit his system . . . SHIT! His fingers pressed into her bicep as he leaned down to catch her eyes, "are you all right sweetheart?"

There was more than a touch of panic in his question but under the circumstances he felt that was more than understandable. That was the first time he'd seen that look on her face . . . it was a blinding agony. And it killed him to know that this was still just the beginning.

Things were only going to get worse.

Trying desperately to keep the pain induced tears from spilling over, Emily stared down at the dance floor as she counted to ten . . . and then down to one again.

When she got back to three, the worst of the pain had passed and she slowly lifted her head.

"Yeah," her eyes were glistening as they locked with his, "I've just got a little headache."

Her voice was husky, strained with the effort of keeping her emotions from spilling over in such a public arena.

"_Little?_" Hotch's eyebrow shot up in disbelief at her dismissive answer, "you call that _little?_ You were doubled over in pain Emily."

Seeing her about to open her mouth again, Hotch cut her off with a shake of his head.

"And before you try to say that it wasn't all that bad, I want you to tell me what the rule is about keeping things from each other."

Though his words were gruff, his tone was soft. This was still just the beginning of her illness, and the only way for them to get through this with their relationship intact was if honesty was a full time project.

They could have no secrets.

"We don't," Emily answered sadly. And Hotch nodded as his hand slid down her arm to squeeze her fingers, "that's right sweetheart," he whispered back, "we don't." He tipped his head down to catch her eyes, "now tell me truthfully, how bad is it? And when did it start?"

Seeing the fear on Hotch's face, Emily felt a wave of guilt wash over her for all the stress and worry she was causing him. That's why her first inclination had been to say it was just a little headache. Stupid. Like the man wasn't standing right there with her.

Still though, her intentions had been good . . . even if her actions had been wrong. So she squeezed his hand contritely as she whispered back.

"It started maybe fifteen minutes ago but it really was just a little headache until a minute ago and now it's um," her voice started to get thick as she blinked, trying keep the tears from spilling over, "well, now it hurts."

She'd known that they weren't going to stay that much longer but now the choice to stay had been taken from her.

Now she had to go.

So when Hotch tipped his head towards the exit she didn't even put up a token argument, really she didn't even have one in her. The din of the party goers and the music from the band was no longer something festive to be enjoyed . . . now it was just noise.

A tear slipped down her cheek . . . noise that was making her head hurt.

Still though, as Hotch started leading her to the cloak room she felt a burst of anger and self pity . . . why did this have to happen now when the night was almost over anyway?

Why couldn't she get three FRIGGING hours of peace so that she could leave on her own terms?

Seeing the tears sliding down Emily's face as she scowled at the floor, Hotch felt an ache in his chest and he slipped his arm up and around her shoulders.

Appearances were no longer important . . . she was hurting and she needed him.

Not only that though, he needed her. He needed her to get better. And he needed her to smile again so that he would know that things would be all right.

Right now things weren't all right though . . . he thought bitterly . . . right now they were "living with cancer." At least that's the frigging pamphlet said. And though he knew that the headaches were part and parcel of living with her particular type of cancer, he still couldn't help the jolt of panic he felt every time she touched her temple.

The cancer was the invisible enemy but the headaches were something specific to hate. They were the tangible reminder that they were at war with this entity that had invaded her body.

And he just wanted it gone.

But those were childish prayers . . . wishes wouldn't make this go away. He needed to deal with this moment, and in this moment his only task was to think of something to make Emily feel better, to take the sting off the fact that she had just been reminded yet again that she was sick. And as they walked by the buffet table on the way to the coat room, a thought popped into his head.

"Hey," he turned his head slightly to whisper in her ear, "if you're feeling up to it how about on the way home we stop for takeout at Red Lobster and you can collect on your shrimp fest? It can be a midnight snack. Or maybe just lunch for tomorrow."

His thought had been that this idea would cheer her up, bring a little smile to her face. But instead he saw her bite her lip as another trickled down her face.

Damn it.

His eyes scanned the ballroom, looking for a place where she could cry without strangers watching. Finally spotting a small, discreet hallway half behind a red curtain . . . it probably led back to the kitchen . . . Hotch hurried Emily through the threshold. And then he kept walking until the noise of the party had faded slightly and they'd reached a relatively private space.

Once they were alone he looked down at Emily's streaming tears.

"I don't want to cry Aaron," her voice cracked as her hand came up to angrily wipe her face, "it's stupid to cry about a party."

"Sweetheart," Hotch gently brushed the tears away, "we both know that you're not crying about a party," he pressed a kiss to her lips, "but even if you were," he gave her a sad smile, "that's okay too." And then he pulled her tightly against his body and just waited. Waited for the tears to stop, waited for her to accept the truth of the moment.

Just waited for her to come back to herself again.

A few minutes later he felt her nod against his chest and he knew that the worst of it had passed. So he continued talking as though there had been no break in the moment.

"So," he rubbed his hand down her back, "we'll stop and pick up some food from Red Lobster, and then when we get home we can cuddle up and watch one of your Christmas movies," he kissed the top of her head, "does that sound good?"

Emily nodded again before she sniffled and whispered back, "yeah, that sounds really good." And knowing how hard Hotch was trying to cheer her up, and how much it bothered him to see her upset, Emily leaned back to give him a little . . . still slightly watery . . . smile.

"Can we watch Christmas Vacation?"

Chevy Chase wasn't one of Hotch's favorites, but that was one movie that always made her laugh.

She was hoping it would cheer her up.

A dimple slid out as Hotch fixed her smudged mascara, "of course sweetheart, whatever you want." They stared at each other for a moment before she took a breath and he slipped his arm around her waist for the walk back out to the ballroom.

After they'd slipped out from behind the red curtain again, Hotch started digging out their tickets for the coat check. And when they walked up to the counter he felt Emily pat his arm. His eyebrow went up as he looked down at her.

She tipped her head towards the ladies room at the end of the hall.

"I think it would probably be good if I took my pills now so I'm going to go get some water."

Hotch nodded slowly as he squeezed her hand, "okay, I'll be right here."

When she turned away, Hotch watched worriedly as she walked to the end of the hall with her hand on her temple.

Her head was clearly starting to throb again.

His jaw twitched as he turned back to hand the girl their tickets . . . hopefully the Tylenol and Motrin combo would take care of this headache. Emily was still avoiding taking the new pain pills and he didn't want that to become a fight when they got home.

He knew that to her mindset, the moment she took the first of the narcotics that she'd be accepting that this disease was starting to take over her life. And she was going to put off that moment as long as possible.

Of course . . . he took their coats back from the girl and slipped her a few ones in return . . . his only concern was whether or not she was in pain.

This disease was going to take over their life whether she took the pills or not.

That was a fact.

When Hotch saw Emily coming back down the hall a few minutes later, he held his hand up to his temple and she nodded as she shook her bag.

Okay . . . he checked his watch . . . she took those at 10:02. If she was still in pain . . . or God forbid her pain was any worse . . . an hour from now, then he was going to push the new pills whether she liked it or not.

But for now he just gave her a little smile as she walked up. Then he helped her slip on her coat, gently lifting her hair out from her collar before her turned her around.

For a moment their eyes were locked and he wanted so badly to kiss her . . . but he kept his lips to himself. They'd be out the door in a minute.

The kiss would keep.

As they started hand in hand across the lobby of the hotel Emily suddenly tugged on Hotch's fingers and he stopped, looking down at her worriedly.

"What's the matter?"

"Can we hold off on the shrimp until next week?" She asked hopefully, "I'd rather get some ice cream instead, is that okay?" And his eyes crinkled as he pulled her against his side and began walking again.

"Of course sweetheart," he kissed the top of her head as he guided her into the revolving door.

"Whatever you want."

* * *

_A/N 2: If you noticed the slight echoing in Will & JJ and Hotch and Emily's dialogue that was deliberate. If you read the Ides of May (and I won't spoil it if you haven't) it's established that during the timeframe of this story, JJ and Will are very much in love. And seeing as they're getting little cameos this time around, and that H/P are already established in love, some comparison in seeing how the other couple relates to one another, in that it's very similar to how H/P relate, is helpful in strengthening a bond that won't get too much "on screen" face time. _

_The memory of Reid accidentally shredding a stack of JJ's files is from elsewhere in the Girl'verse. Never written live but Reid also made mention of it once upon a time. _

_This was a particularly long chapter, over ten thousand words, which was why it took so damn long to clean up, but my thoughts for the next few days in their world are of a more focused nature, a snippet of Christmas Day and Emily's first trip to the radiation clinic are the only major ones, and those should not be topping out anywhere near the size that this one did. Really, we just have to get them through New Year's when baby brother comes to visit, and then we'll be back within the blueprint of the original story again. I do have a few brand new scenes to insert as they move along, I'm going to let JJ visit a few times for instance, and probably a bit more with Em's parents now that her father is a "living, breathing" character, but for the most part I'm thinking it will move along without quite so many stops and starts. That said, I'm purposely putting this aside for maybe two weeks so that I can get those Fracture and Reason chapters cleaned up and get those stories rolling passed their respective cliffhangers. _

_This is going to be a terrible busy work week for me, which generally means that my writing time is like midnight to two am (it's two right now and I need to get up for work in like six hours) but even still, there should be a couple more things done by Halloween. The items I have to clean up in those other worlds are fortunately NOWHERE near as long as this one was :)_

_As always thanks to everyone for the feedback the last few weeks. As always I'm behind on individual responses but that's simply due to the limitations in the hours of the day, not my gratitude :)_

_P.S. In the spirit of Halloween, if you're new to my stuff and perhaps looking for something "scary" to read this week, I don't have anything new up (yet) but my old standard on the horror front is The Snake Pit. I can promise it is an H/P story, but beyond that, it bears no resemblance at all to anything in the Girl'verse. So read at your own risk ;)_


	7. Reason Number Seventeen

**Author's Note:** I (as I'm sure all of you) had expected that I'd have up this Christmas chapter over the actual Christmas holiday. Though that did not happen, it was not for lack of trying. So this is perhaps not exactly what you were expecting I'd do, I'll explain at the end why I went this way and not another.

This is Christmas evening opening with Emily.

* * *

**TV Bonus Challenge #26**

Show: Everybody Loves Raymond

Challenge: The Christmas Picture

* * *

_Late December: Thursday_

**Reason Number Seventeen**

Emily began to yawn as she stopped at the traffic light around the corner from her condo. It was probably her two hundredth yawn of the afternoon/evening and she was definitely reaching the point of collapse.

She was exhausted because well, A) she had cancer, B) she'd just spent four and a half grueling hours with her family and C) Jack had woken her and Hotch up at five am to go see what Santa had brought him. And though she was quite sure that A and B on their own would have worn her out, it was C that was really bringing her to her knees right now.

It went without saying . . . though she was going to say it to herself anyway . . . she _adored_ Jack. And she absolutely had wanted to have the whole family Christmas experience . . . which she understood meant being woken up during the wee hours . . . but she hadn't really, _fully,_ understood how exhausting it was doing the full family thing on Christmas Eve. There were cookies to bake and presents to wrap and toys to put together, it was just a lot of . . . stuff. But once she'd finished filling Jack's stocking . . . which was the most fun ever . . . at Hotch's urging she'd finally dragged herself up to bed.

That was a little before one.

Then Hotch, aka Santa . . . who had to stay up to finish putting together a bicycle and couple of Hot Wheels racetracks . . . followed after her sometime after two. Now ordinarily Hotch could come and go from bed without waking her, but unfortunately . . . for both of them . . . she'd been so tired when she was undressing that she'd just dropped her clothes in the middle of the bedroom floor. Not a huge obstacle, but Hotch . . . who was operating completely in the dark and on even less sleep than she had been when she went upstairs . . . somehow had gotten his foot tangled up. He'd stumbled and gone crashing into the closet.

It wasn't so much the fall that had woken her as the string of profanities which accompanied it.

And then they were both up for the next twenty minutes as he got the little cut over his brow bandaged up and she got him an ice pack to keep down the swelling.

So basically . . . putting Christmas aside . . . that portion of the evening was par for the course in the newly christened Hotchner/Prentiss Household. Really screw the cancer, in moments like that . . . the ones where she snaps on the light to find him dazed and bleeding in a pile of metal hangers . . . she genuinely believed that her clumsiness was going to be the death of both of them.

But Hotch . . . sweetie that he was . . . wasn't even upset over her maiming him, again. He just shook off her apologies as he put the ice pack on the bathroom counter and walked her back to bed. Then he turned off the lamp, cuddled her close and whispered that the day after Christmas he was going to go buy a bulk pack of nightlights to plug in around the apartment.

He said it was his own fault for trying to walk around in the dark.

They both knew whose fault it really was, but just for that . . . for being the best guy ever . . . Emily decided that a middle of the night quickie was the best way to say thanks for (again) taking the fall for something that was entirely her fault.

And once that first 'exchanging of gifts' had been completed, it was about three. And then . . . the light turned green and she took her foot off the brake . . . as was previously stated, Jack barged in at five. So that meant that Emily had basically only had about three hours of sleep in total.

Though in the past that would have been sufficient rest to allow her to continue working even through a major case, she was discovering that with her new condition that limited amount of sleep was not nearly enough to even get through a day which was primarily spent just sitting around the house.

Her hand came up to cover her mouth again . . . of course Hotch had tried to make her take a nap after present opening, but what with it being their first Christmas and all she hadn't wanted to miss anything. Therefore she had (foolishly) declined his plea to lie down while he made her special pancakes for breakfast.

Yes, she was an idiot.

Because then by the time she had to start getting ready for her parents' annual Christmas dinner . . . three pm . . . she'd been so tired that Hotch actually had to help her get dressed. Still though . . . her hand came up to cover her mouth again . . . even with him ironing her silk blouse as he pestered her to call and lie that she'd been called into work, she'd insisted on going.

Of course she'd _wanted_ to bail, but it was Christmas. She could not "skip" Christmas. Not if she didn't want both her mother and her father showing up at her door with an emergency room physician in tow.

So she'd gone.

It was . . . she sighed as she thought back on her evening . . . uncomfortable. She hadn't seen or spoken to her parents since her diagnosis, and as much as she loved them, she really hadn't wanted to see them . . . or anyone else in her family . . . on today of all days. Christmas was that traditional gathering where everyone "caught up" and she had zero life developments that she was interested in sharing. Just the basics had now become a minefield for her.

Work = chasing serial killers

Love life = just moved in with her boss

Health = inoperable brain tumor

Yeah . . . she slowed for an old woman clearing the crosswalk . . . not one share worthy topic in the bunch. So with all of the traditional small talk items off of her plate, after a quick hug and kiss and "you look great, have you lost weight?" to pretty much everyone in the room, she'd just hid out in the corner hoping nobody would notice her.

A faint pout touched her lips . . . it really wasn't a good time. Yes, with that approach she'd avoided all of the awkward social exchanges, but she'd been so lonely. As she'd looked around the room filled with her cousins and aunts and uncles talking and laughing and having a merry old time, all she could think was how much she missed Hotch.

Everybody in the room was paired off with their significant other except for her.

And she could see the looks that she got from her aunts as she said her hellos all alone. The _'oh poor Emily, still can't find a man,'_ looks that she'd been dealing with for the better part of her adult life.

She was sick of them.

And she wanted to tell them all to go screw. That she had a man, a perfect, wonderful, incredibly sweet man who was installing nightlights in her house tomorrow just because she was a world class klutz, waiting for her at home.

But she couldn't do that.

Not only would saying those things have been unacceptably rude on their face, but she'd known that Christmas was not the day to introduce Hotch to the family. That's why she hadn't brought him. It was a given that Emily's mother would not approve of Emily dating her boss. Although granted, at this point in her life . . . age, career choice, and life threatening illness all playing a huge part here . . . Emily no longer much gave a shit if her mother did or did not approve of the man that she was one day going to marry.

Of course . . . Emily felt a little pang of melancholy as she turned into her apartment complex . . . it would be nice if she did, but she wasn't going to hold her breath there. So though she wasn't necessarily looking for approval, she wasn't about to listen to any derogatory remarks being made about her relationship either. Hotch was hands down the finest man that she'd ever known, and he was without a doubt the best thing to ever happen to her. He made her feel loved, special.

Happy.

And if her mother said even _one_ slightly negative thing about him, things were going to get very ugly.

And that was the main reason she was hiding Hotch for just a bit longer. With everything else going on in her life, Emily just didn't need any additional stress right now. Beyond that though, Emily also hadn't wanted to ruin Christmas for the whole family by having a huge fight with her mother in front of everyone. They'd done that enough when she was a teenager.

It was time to be a grownup.

And like every good Catholic grownup knows, the best way to keep peace with your mother through the holidays was to lie through your teeth about every aspect of your personal life.

Emily had just kept with tradition.

So when her mother had taken her coat and asked her how things were, Emily had responded with a straight faced . . . same old same old. And given that things were the same old from say . . . she pulled into her parking spot . . . yesterday, as far as Emily's perspective on her life, that hadn't technically been a lie.

Okay yes . . . she stifled another yawn as she turned off the car . . . yes, it was. Technicality or not, it was a big fat lie. But for now . . . Emily slipped the key out of the ignition . . . what her mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

With a huff, Emily slowly climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Then she hit the locks and started across the parking lot. It wasn't until she was standing in front of the elevator bank and saw her neighbor standing next to her holding a little green gift bag that Emily suddenly flashed on the bag of presents from her parents that she'd left sitting on the back seat. She simultaneously stifled a groan and an eye roll.

Idiot.

And though she knew that Hotch would go and get them for her if she asked, she didn't want to be that dependent on him. Not yet.

Those days were coming soon enough.

So with a weary sigh she turned and started back to the car again.

_She was way too tired for this crap._

/*/*/*/*/*

Five minutes later she stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor of her apartment building.

Home . . . she blinked to keep her eyes focused . . . finally.

As she started down the hall she shifted through her keys, find the one to the door with just the touch of her fingers . . . she'd put a little sticker on the end of it . . . but just as she went to put it in the lock, the door suddenly swung open and Hotch stood in front of her.

"Hello," she said with a tired smile.

"Hi there."

Though Hotch tried to keep the worry out of his greeting, it was a little difficult given how shocked he was at Emily's appearance.

She looked awful.

Her skin was chalky and there were deep circles under her eyes. And though he'd expected her to be exhausted by the time she got home . . . he leaned forward to give her a kiss . . . he wasn't expecting her to be quite this wiped. So concern about her condition wasn't the main reason that he'd bounded up from the couch when he'd heard her outside the door. No . . . still kissing her, he started tugging her through the doorway . . . it was where she'd been that had been the worrying thought on his mind.

Her parents.

She'd been a nervous wreck about the Christmas gathering at their house and he was just hoping that things had gone well. The one text message he'd received from her hadn't been particularly illuminating. It just said, _'Chef didn't make cream puffs this year. WTF!'_

Yeah . . . he slipped her bag off her shoulder . . . not really helpful.

As Hotch pulled her into the apartment . . . simultaneously taking her presents from her hand and her purse from shoulder . . . Emily began to chuckle against his lips. Then when he dropped the bags on the floor and started unbuttoning her coat, she pulled back, her fingers coming up to brush through his hair as she laughed.

"Wow," she said as he pushed the door shut with his hip, "this is quite the full service door greeting. It's like it's 1952 and I have a penis." Her eyebrow quirked up. "Where's my martini?"

"Probably back in 1952 with your penis," Hotch responded drily as he finished unbuttoning her coat. At her snort, his expression softened and he paused with his hand on her shoulder.

"So how did it go?"

He'd really wanted to be there for her today so he'd just hated having to send her off to that dinner party alone. Not only was she was keeping _him _from her parents, but she was also keeping the cancer from them too. A live-in boyfriend and a life threatening illness were two huge secrets for anyone to keep, let alone a woman that hated to lie as much as Emily did. And the first time that she responded to any inquiry as to how she was doing with a "fine," then she was already telling a whopper.

He figured the evening had probably gone downhill from there.

And the fact that Emily was staring at the floor rather than answering the question he'd asked, told him that his supposition had probably been correct. So he reached out and gently lifted her chin.

She was chewing her lip.

They stared at each other for a moment before he blinked and reached up to slip her coat from her shoulders. Ordinarily he won any and all staring contests, but he could see how tired she was. And that meant she needed a minute to collect her thoughts.

Emily dipped her shoulder down slightly as Hotch helped her off with her coat. Then she sighed . . . best to start with the bad stuff first. So she started with the one thing that she knew would freeze him in his tracks.

"I got another headache . . ."

And as she expected, Hotch immediately cut in as he stopped what he was doing to look down at her.

"Another bad one?"

Christ, they were coming more and more these days. At least one a day now, usually two.

"No," Emily starting chewing her lip again as she looked up at him, "well, not too bad. I mean not compared to some others I've had lately. It wasn't as bad as the one the other night. But everything was so noisy that I had to get out of the drawing room for a bit and then," she stumbled for a second, "my dad came looking for me and I had to lie and tell him I was fine. But I could see that he didn't believe me and then he started asking more questions . . ." her voice faded slightly, "he asked if I was sick."

Seeing Hotch's eyes widen slightly she nodded, "I know," she cleared her throat, "and I know that he didn't mean it that way, but as soon as he said it I just had this horrible panic attack and I ended up blurting out something I didn't mean to blurt out."

Hotch's eyebrow slowly inched up. "And what was that?"

Given the continually lip chewing, he had a feeling that the blurt had something to do with him. And if she was that nervous about telling him, then it was unlikely to have been something good.

"Um," she winced slightly, "that we were living together."

Telling her parents about her new living arrangements had not been on the To Do list that day. She hadn't planned on bringing Hotch up at all. Yes, in the short term she was going to mention that she was seeing someone . . . and her father would have immediately deduced it was her boss . . . but even then she hadn't planned on confirming his identity, or mentioning that he'd moved in with her for quite some time.

Months really.

Though they were of course quite worldly in their experiences, Emily's parents were also old school Catholics . . . they still ate fish on Fridays . . . so in that respect . . . the living together without benefit of marriage respect . . . they were both fairly conservative. So she had hoped that they wouldn't know about Hotch's change of address until well after he'd put a ring on her finger.

And she could tell from the look on Hotch's face that _he_ had hoped that as well.

Hotch's eyes popped, "You told your father that we moved in together?"

There was a slightly unmanly squeak there at the end, but Emily's father scared the shit out of him! The man operated on a whole different plane of interrogation techniques than he did. Not to mention that the ones he'd initially been trained in had since been banned by _several_ international treaties.

This was not a man you wanted pissed off at you.

"I know," Emily pouted as she reached out to touch Hotch's cheek, "I know, I'm so sorry honey. I didn't mean to, I just panicked. He could tell I was keeping a secret, and you know I was actually keeping a couple and that was the big one that slipped out. Really though," her eyes crinkled slightly at the worried brow of her normally unflappable man, "it's okay. He's not going to do anything to you. He actually took it much better than I'd thought he would. After I assured him that I wasn't pregnant . . ."

"Pregnant!" Hotch interjected in horror, "why did he think you were PREGNANT?"

This just got better and better! A man he'd never met, a man who's reputation very much proceeded him, who only knew Aaron Hotchner as his daughter's boss, thought that he was not only living with his only daughter, but had apparently knocked her up! Two things that Hotch knew from Emily's stories about her parents were really _not_ going to go over well at all.

God, by the time he actually met the man he was going to have to wear a bulletproof vest and a cup.

"Yes, yes," Emily tried to smooth over the pregnancy question, "but that was just a little misunderstanding that I cleared up right away, nothing to worry about there. Really, like I said, it went okay. After I told him he was quiet for a second and then he just asked if I was happy," a sad smile touched her lips, "and if you treated me well, and when I told him very much, and much better than I deserve. He asked when he could meet you, I said soon, and that was pretty much the end of the conversation."

After that they'd talked about her mother for a bit, but nothing had been covered there that she and Hotch hadn't already discussed themselves. Really Emily just wished that she hadn't lied about the stupid headache to begin with. Her father had known a lie was coming out of her mouth before she'd even finished the pause for effect nose wrinkle that accompanied it.

Those gatherings had _always _given her a headache before so the fact that she'd tried to lie about how badly she was feeling today had immediately put him on alert. Then when he'd asked if she was sick, he'd reached out and felt her forehead. And seeing how worried he was over what he thought was a little bug, her eyes had immediately started to tear up. Seeing that reaction from him then had reminded her yet again _exactly_ why it was that she couldn't tell him about the cancer.

It would break his heart.

But of course the second he'd seen that she was about to start crying in the middle of the party, he'd pulled her up and whisked her out of the room. And she'd held no chance of keeping all of her secrets from him during the private one on one interrogation in the library. Hence the inadvertent disclosure of her new housemate.

Aka throwing Hotch under the bus.

Hotch looked down warily at Emily, "you're sure he wasn't angry? He's not going to pop in this week for a surprise visit?"

'_To rip off my testicles,'_ he added to himself.

"No," Emily shook her head, "definitely not angry and definitely no pop-ins. Not even the chance of one for long awhile. I found out today that both my mother and father are leaving for Japan this weekend so my dad won't even be around to pop-in for at least a month," she paused for a moment before shrugging, "and I don't know, maybe by the time they get home I'll be ready to have the conversation with my mother."

She knew she couldn't put that one off forever. Especially not now that her father knew. It was unfair of her to expect him to keep _that _big a secret from her mother. But really, the timing of their trip couldn't have worked out better for Emily. She wasn't ready to talk to her mother today, and she'd be under no obligation to see or talk to her at _all_ for the next four to five weeks.

It was perfect. That was just the timeframe where she'd be getting adjusted to her treatment. And then they'd come home, Emily would work in a quick (brief) dinner . . . maybe with the four of them, maybe not . . . and then they'd go back to their separate lives as they usually did. By the time the next major holiday rolled around . . . Easter . . . Emily would hopefully have completed her radiation treatment by then and be on the mend. And if she wasn't . . . she swallowed . . . if things took a turn, or whatever, then she'd just beg off Easter dinner for work reasons. Really though . . . she stifled another yawn . . . she was sure she'd be better by then.

She just had to keep a positive outlook.

And as long as she had this guy right in front of her . . . Hotch tossed her coat over his shoulder . . . then everything would be okay.

"That sounds like a good idea sweetheart," Hotch brushed her hair back behind her ear, "less secrets, less stress." He gave her a sad smile, "and God knows you don't need any more stress. That's why . . ."

And he paused, realizing he was about to bring up Emily's least favorite topic of conversation . . . telling her parents about the cancer_._ As far as she was concerned that topic was closed. And though he still considered it very much open, either way it wasn't anything that he wanted to broach again today.

It was still too soon.

So instead he smoothly finished his sentence with, "that's why I'm going to run you a bath and make you some tea." His lip quirked up slightly, "how's that sound?"

He course had been planned to do that anyway, but it was also a good misdirection for his near faux pas.

Emily gave Hotch a sleepy smile as he walked over to the coat closet, "that sounds like reasons fifteen and sixteen that you're my favorite person on the planet."

"Fifteen and sixteen, huh," Hotch called over his shoulder as he slipped out a hanger, "I'd think that bath thing would rank a little higher on the list."

Though he was of course joking, Emily really did love a good bath.

"Well," Emily smiled over at him, "it's a pretty competitive list." And Hotch huffed slightly as he walked back to her, "is it now?"

He always loved to hear Emily logic.

"It is," Emily said as Hotch slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Actually," she leaned her head on his chest, "a month ago the bath would have fallen into the top five, but since then," she tipped her head back to smirk up at him, "you've added a whole other list of special activities that I very much enjoy. In fact," she sighed, "I really should have put out a favorite things list like Oprah does every Christmas."

Then her face started to get a bit warm as she started running down some of the items in her top ten. "On second thought," she scrunched up her nose, "maybe not. I'd have to call Larry Flynt for publishing."

Hotch chuckled as he started helping her up the staircase.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to leave that one to Oprah then."

"Guess so," Emily mused sleepily as they walked up the steps. Though she loved bantering with Hotch, she was really getting to the stage that she was too tired to talk. It was barely eight but all she could think about was that bath and bed. And as soon as they stepped over the threshold into her bedroom she began to yawn again.

It was partly psychological but that bed did look really, really . . . her brow wrinkled as she caught sight of something sticking out from under her pillow . . . inviting.

"Honey," she pointed to the object in question, "what's that?"

It wasn't there when she was getting dressed earlier.

"Ah," Hotch walked Emily over and sat her down on the mattress, "that is something that Santa left for you but you forgot to open this morning."

Actually "Santa" had deliberately not put it out because he hadn't known how the afternoon with her parents would go. He'd wanted to save something for her to open in case she was miserable when she got home.

Emily's lips started to twitch as she reached over to slide out the box, "well, perhaps if _Santa_ hadn't been hiding presents under my pillow like he was the Tooth Fairy, then I might have found it this morning."

"Actually sweetheart," Hotch responded matter of factly as he pushed up Emily's skirt to unzip her thigh high boot, "it's common knowledge that Santa occasionally moonlights as the Tooth Fairy in his off season. So, you really shouldn't disparage his stashing techniques." He looked up at her with a smirk, "it makes you look ignorant."

And then he yanked off her boot and tossed it behind him.

Emily's eyebrow rose up as she looked down at Hotch in amusement, "ignorant, huh? Ordinarily you know you'd pay for a dig like that, but today," she lightly shook the box as he started tugging off the second boot, "you're lucky because I have a present to open."

The box was completely the wrong size and shape to be a ring. Not that she was expecting a ring today . . . she slipped off the silver bow as he dropped the second boot to the floor . . . or really anytime soon. They'd already made their commitment to each other that day in the hospital . . . she slid her finger under the corner piece of paper . . . so the rest of the 'conventional' developments in their relationship could . . . and should . . . wait until she was well. She didn't want that part of her future to be swirled together with this part of her present.

Though . . . she tore back the paper . . . she was curious what this could be. Hotch's big expensive present to her had been that beautiful dress that he'd bought her for the party. And then this morning she'd awoken to find a pile of gifts under the tree that had rivaled Jack's. Among many other little things, he'd given her a new cashmere sweater, a new calf skin holster for her pistol, and three new pairs of pajamas to add to her collection. So really . . . she pulled back the tissue paper . . . she couldn't even imagine what else he'd . . . tears sprang to her eyes . . . bought.

"Oh Aaron," she bit her lip as she lifted out the black lattice frame, "I love it."

It was a picture of her boys. A picture that she herself had taken at Jack's birthday party, and Hotch had slipped off her camera without her knowing.

Her finger traced over the matching dimples in the image before her.

"You said I couldn't print this one out." She whispered as a tear ran down her cheek, "you said that nobody else could see it."

Not that she ever would have shown anyone else . . . Hotch was wearing a cone shaped SpongeBob party hat. She knew a picture like that would have a bounty on it at the Academy.

"Yeah well," Hotch leaned up and wiped the drop of moisture from her skin, "I know it makes you happy so," he half shrugged, half rolled his eyes, "I figured what the hell."

God help him if the picture ever got around to the office. He'd never live it down. After she'd snapped it he'd threatened her with extra paperwork for a month if she ever showed it to anyone else. But then last week when she'd had one of her bad headaches, he'd noticed her looking over her scrapbook.

It seemed to make her feel better.

And he knew that she was going to have harder days coming, so he thought that maybe one of those days this would be the picture that cheered her up.

Emily placed the frame on the bed as she leaned down to give Hotch a kiss. He met her halfway, and then afterward he pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing his head on her lap. For a moment she just ran her fingers through his hair, then she leaned down slightly to whisper in his ear.

"Reason number seventeen."

"I love you too sweetheart," Hotch murmured back, "but," he tipped his head back and looked up at her hopefully, "do you think that maybe we could hang it in the bedroom."

Her eyes shifted over to the picture of the cone on top of his head. She began to chuckle.

"Deal."

* * *

_A/N 2: Stepping back Inside the Fic Writer's Studio, I had SUCH a horrible time trying to figure this one out! I had expected to do a big fluffy, Jack/Santa centered Christmas chapter that many of you thought I might do, but it wouldn't come. I kept trying (3 half assed drafts) and I just couldn't do it. Not that they didn't have a happy Christmas morning, they did, I just couldn't write it. Fluffy Christmas just felt wrong as a punch point for the story. So I was at a complete loss as to what to do instead and I was getting genuinely pissed off that I'd hit such an unexpected road block (I'd thought the holiday chapter would be easy) so I tried to step back and picture how Christmas Day would have gone sequentially, to find another entry point into the day. Moving past the morning routine, I realized that at some point Emily needed to make an appearance at her parents. As soon as that popped into my head I started seeing the REAL focus of the day . . . how she was hiding this huge secret from her mother and father. That was something I could sink my teeth into! Even if the disclosure of her illness hadn't already been written at a later date in this tale, (and I am satisfied with that disclosure) clearly she wasn't going to tell them what was happening ON Christmas day, so there was actually some tension and drama there. Finally! Then I got stuck again :) I actually wrote the dinner party "live" but then kept getting bored with my own ending (never a good sign) so I finally scooped the relevant bits out, decided to do it as a narrative flashback solely from Em's POV and started from scratch. A chapter that had taken me three months to NOT write, in the end I was able to pull together in four days. Such is the way these things go. And I now have like 5 pages of a Prentiss family gathering collecting dust. I'm hoping I can find a place in Second Chances to recycle it :)_

_And if anyone was expecting a ring for Christmas, sorry. That's another element already addressed to my satisfaction in the original Hours draft and I didn't want to mess with it here. Also though, for the reasons I had Em articulate, it's not the right time for it. They know where they stand with each other, and that's enough for them for right now. _

_I'm planning two more new chapters here and then we'll be back to the original blueprint again. I personally can't wait! Things will go so much faster then. But the next one planned is just a quickie and I know what I want to touch on there so hopefully I can get it up this month. _

_And side note, new JJ centered story spinning off the Hours will be going up either in a few hours, or tomorrow night. Depends when I fall asleep :)_


	8. Karma, Superstition & Prayers

**Author's Note**: I promised I'd be back soon.

This is Emily's first radiation treatment. Another new chapter not in the original posting and the reason for its existence, and why it's all from Hotch's POV, will be explained at the end.

**

* * *

**

_End of December: Monday_

**Karma, Superstition and Prayers**

Hotch's stomach started to churn the moment he turned off the engine. It was six forty-five Monday morning and he and Emily had just arrived at the oncology clinic in Georgetown for Emily's first radiation treatment. And though Hotch knew that this was a good thing, that this was the place . . . that these were the people . . . that were going to save his girl's life, he couldn't quite reconcile that intellectual knowledge with the stabbing pain in his heart.

He was scared shitless.

Afraid that somehow coming to this place . . . this place where _sick_ people came . . . was a harbinger of bad things.

That they were inviting death to notice them.

Foolish thoughts yes, of course they were . . . but that didn't change the fact that he was having them. But he knew that his foolishness was of a superstitious nature, and he was not a superstitious man at heart. So hopefully the thoughts would fade away soon.

Though . . . given that the swirling acid got no better as he hurried around the sidewalk to help Emily out of the jeep . . . he wasn't so sure that 'soon' was going to be quite soon enough. Still though, seeing the tension in Emily's own jaw line as she stood up next to him, Hotch felt a wave of guilt push its way into his already aching heart.

He was remembering that his feelings here were inconsequential . . . his fingers gently brushed Emily's hair back from her cold cheek . . . he was supposed to be strong for her. So when she bit her lip and whispered that she was scared, he dug down and bucked up, pulling her into a tight hug as he murmured back to just remember that they were there to make her better.

That it was a scary day but that they would get through it together.

Then he waited for a second until she nodded against his chest. Unfortunately though, she said nothing in return so he knew that his words hadn't made the impact that he'd hoped they would. So with nothing more comforting coming to mind, Hotch just slipped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. And as Emily turned her head and buried her face in the wool of his coat, he felt another stab in his heart.

In that moment he knew that living without this woman in his life had ceased to be a viable option for his continued existence on the planet. Without her, his days would be dark and lonely.

It would be no life at all.

So for just a second he paused on the sidewalk as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. Then he took a breath and led them up to the entrance of the red brick building.

Showtime.

The door was automatic, but just before they stepped inside, his arm slipped down and he gave Emily's fingers a small squeeze . . . a squeeze as much for her benefit as his own . . . and then his hand fell to her back and he guided her through the door and into a new world.

Though Hotch wasn't sure quite what he was expecting, he was a little surprised to see that the room looked just like any other doctor's office waiting room. It was of moderate size with maybe a dozen people sitting around in the black leather chairs lining the walls. And though all eyes turned on them as they walked in the door, a second later everyone looked away again.

Clearly this was a crowd that knew that it wasn't polite to stare.

So Hotch returned the favor, making sure to avert his gaze from the visibly ill patients that were making his heart pound in his chest. Instead focusing on simply getting Emily checked in for her appointment.

Baby steps today.

After they walked up to the counter, for a moment Emily just stood there in front of the woman sitting behind the little glass window. And in that moment . . . with that tension rolling off her body . . . Hotch could see just how badly she wanted to leave. _'I know sweetheart,'_ he sympathized in his head as his fingers squeezed hers, '_I want to leave too.'_

But they couldn't.

Nor could he do this part for her. If she wasn't ready to walk into that room yet, then he had no right to force that moment on her. So he just held her hand and waited for her to find her courage.

Something he knew that she had in spades.

And of course after a few more seconds, Emily took a breath, picked up the pen . . . and wrote down her name. Such a little thing of course, but it was actually a real Moment in Hotch's life. Something that he knew he would remember until the day he died.

The moment Emily put her name on that list. And then his eyes began to sting as she slowly filled in the words beside, "Reason For Visit."

Radiation Treatment.

He saw her gaze linger on the page . . . his did as well. But then he blinked and reached up to slip the pen from her shaking hand.

Enough of that.

She apparently thought so too, as she immediately pushed the sheet towards the receptionist with a quiet whisper.

"All set."

Then they waited a moment as the woman looked at the name, and then pulled Emily's crisp new chart from the little stack to the left of her.

The morning's appointments no doubt.

After a bit of shuffling about, the receptionist pushed a clipboard and a stack of paperwork through the hole in the glass. Before Emily had even picked up the packet, the woman had asked her for her insurance card and method of payment. So as Emily reached into her bag to dig out her wallet, Hotch picked up the pen he'd just put down and grabbed the stack of forms.

Then he began filling in Emily's medical history from memory.

Name . . . done.

Address . . . done.

Gender . . . done.

Date of Birth . . . done.

Social . . . that he left blank. Though he had known Haley's . . . after twenty years of filling out paperwork together he _still_ knew Haley's . . . that was a piece of Emily that remained hers alone.

For now anyway.

But someday . . . Hotch's teeth sunk into his lower lip as he moved on to the next question . . . they would share a bank account, a mortgage . . . a baby's birth certificate. Someday . . . he blinked away the moisture in his eyes . . . if all went well today and in the days to come, they would be married. For now though, he knew that he still had that one gap in his knowledge of her life.

Just that one gap though.

Because as Emily waited for the receptionist to making copies of her cards, Hotch slowly moved his way down the list of questions, answering them slowly and methodically . . . one by one. After a moment Emily seemed to realize how much information they were requesting, and said softly, "I'll finish honey," as she moved to take the forms from his hand. But Hotch simply shook his head, moving the paperwork slightly to the left as he whispered.

"I've got this sweetheart."

It was a test. Answering these questions, knowing her list of medications by dose, her type of birth control, that she had measles when she was seven, and that her paternal grandfather had died of coronary artery disease, all those things, and dozens more, were to him . . . an isolated melancholy man who believed that this woman was his one chance left to be happy . . . a measure of how much he loved her.

If he could just get these questions right . . . he began printing in the name of Emily's surgical oncologist . . . if he could just prove to God or whomever the hell was up there running the show, that he really wasn't taking this second chance for granted, that he really knew her inside and out . . . then maybe he could prove to that entity that he deserved her.

Then maybe everything would be all right.

That's how he saw it anyway. As a karmic quiz that he had to pass or God would take her from him. Was that crazy? Yes. Did he know that his ability to list her allergies in alphabetical order would have no bearing on the outcome of her cancer treatment? Of course. Did he stop writing?

Hell no.

Even after Emily got her cards back and they moved over to a set of chairs to wait, Hotch kept scribbling away on that clipboard. Line after line, question after question, so many little things they asked.

He couldn't skip one.

Finally he got to the end . . . four front and back pages later . . . and let out the breath that he'd been holding. Then he held the pen up in front of Emily and pointed to the bottom of the last page.

"Sign here sweetheart," he said softly, "and then if you just want to check it over. I know we need your social on the front."

There was a momentary pause before Emily leaned over and he felt her press a kiss to his cheek. He turned to ask her what it was for, but her eyes slid away from his as she slipped the pen from his fingers. After signing her name and listing the date, she flipped to the front and jotted down the nine missing digits. When she was done she held it up in front of him and a second later he nodded.

Those numbers were now as ingrained as his own.

Then Hotch watched as she walked over and handed the papers to the receptionist. As she sat down again, he quirked up a worried eyebrow.

"But, you didn't check it."

"Didn't have to," she responded with a soft smile, "I know it's right."

And with those words, for the first time since they'd arrived, Hotch felt the stabbing pain in his heart start to fade just a bit. If she believed in him . . . he tugged her down for a quick kiss . . . then maybe God would too.

As she leaned back, they both stiffened as the technician called her name.

"Ms. Prentiss."

Emily straightened up, turning as a tight smile frosted her lips.

"Coming."

Hotch quickly stood, pulling her into a hug as he whispered in her ear.

"Remember," he squeezed her tightly as his voice started to get husky, "they're going to make you better."

God help him if they didn't.

"Right," this time Emily sniffled back against his chest, "all better."

Then she slipped her holster off her hip, passing it to him with a watery smile, "see you in a little bit."

And then she turned and walked away.

The fingers on Hotch's free hand curled into a fist as she crossed the room. When she got to the door the woman was holding open, Emily turned back and the look she gave him broke his heart. Still though, he made sure to conjure up a small smile as he mouthed, 'I love you.' And she nodded, her eyes crinkling slightly as she responded back, 'ditto.' Then she blew him a kiss.

A second later the door fell shut.

For a moment Hotch stood there, feeling that terror and anxiety wash over him again like a wave. Then he realized that there were other people around him . . . looking at him. Though . . . his gaze flickered around the room . . . not judging him.

From the half dozen faces turned in his direction he saw nothing but compassion. Still though, he didn't like to put himself on display like that. But as he moved to sit down again, a young woman a few seats over leaned slightly towards him.

"Is this her first day?" She asked with a sympathetic smile.

And though Hotch was not a man given to discussing his personal life with anyone, let alone strangers, he unexpectedly found himself nodding back to the pale blonde.

"Yes," his voice faded slightly, "yes it is."

The woman's expression changed slightly to one of reassurance, "it'll get easier. The first day's always scary, but then you get a routine, you establish a relationship with the staff, you make some friends and soon it just becomes a part of your life." Her head tipped slightly, "granted, it's a part that you'd be happy to toss by the wayside, still though, things could be worse." She huffed slightly as her eyes fell to the beige carpet, "could be dead."

Then her head snapped up as she quickly apologized, "sorry. We have a bit of black humor around here but I'm sure that's not helping the first day jitters," she leaned forward a bit more as she stuck her hand out, "Diane Eads."

"Uh," Hotch switched Emily's gun to his other hand as he leaned over to shake, "Aaron Hotchner."

This was strange. He was not expecting to make new friends today . . . he didn't make new friends ever . . . but he certainly hadn't expected this development in the oncology clinic. But there was something about this woman. Though he could tell from her coloring and somewhat frail physique that she was sick, she didn't act sick. She didn't act like she wanted any sympathy or compassion for what she was going through. Instead she was just being bright and cheerful as she tried to make _him _feel better.

And of the two of them he was the ONE in perfect health!

The woman smiled warmly as she squeezed his hand, "nice to meet you Aaron Hotchner. And I'll keep a good thought for your friend."

"Emily," he said quickly as their hands fell apart, "her name is Emily."

Why he felt the need to volunteer that information he did not know.

"Emily," she repeated softly, "okay," then her gaze shifted towards the door and Hotch realized that her name had just been called. As she stood up he gave her a pointed nod.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," she slipped her bag back on her shoulder, "I'll take every bit I can get. And I'll keep an eye out back there for your Emily. I'm sure she got all the pamphlets, but it still helps to know somebody who's gone through it so you know what to expect."

"I'd appreciate that," Hotch nodded slowly, "thank you."

And that's when he realized why he'd told this virtual stranger Emily's name . . . he knew his girl needed a friend. And as the woman disappeared through the same door Emily had a few moments earlier, Hotch slowly exhaled, letting out a little ball of tension with that puff of air. Then he tucked Emily's gun into her handbag, and tucked the handbag down next him on the seat. It was sitting on top of her coat. But a second later he picked the bag back up again and placed it on his lap. His fingers ran over the soft leather of the strap as he looked around the room at the other people left waiting in the room with him. That's when he noticed something that he'd missed before.

He wasn't the only man left holding a purse today.

But unlike the typical scene on a mall bench where it's obvious how uncomfortable the man is that's been left holding the handbag, here Hotch could see that these men were clutching them tightly in their laps.

There were at least four sets of white knuckles in that waiting room . . . and they all matched the tight jaws and somber expressions on the men who owned them. Hotch could also see the glint of a wedding band all on those clenched fingers.

Husbands . . . perhaps fathers . . . each sitting there scared to death that they were going to lose the women that they loved. And seeing them like that, Hotch suddenly felt that stabbing pain in his heart again.

He could definitely relate.

And when Hotch looked down, he realized that his own hand had now involuntarily curled into a fist. Like the others, he was now holding tightly to that one piece of his beloved that was still within his grasp. But he knew that wasn't going to save her.

It wasn't going to save any of them.

And perhaps his responses on that quiz wouldn't save her either, but of the two options compared side by side, he would place more eggs in the first superstitious basket than the second. So slowly he relaxed his grip, and then he took a shallow breath and tucked the brown leather satchel back and under his arm. His fingers still loosely played with the strap though as he leaned back, trying to find a happy medium between the karma and the superstition that was riding roughshod over him that morning. And that's when Hotch realized that there was one bit of otherworldly intervention that he hadn't yet tapped into that day. One that had worked for him on occasion in the past, and there was nothing to say it wouldn't work again today. So he took another breath and closed his eyes.

And that's when he began to pray.

_

* * *

A/N 2: The idea for this chapter came from an article I read while I was posting Girl. It was kind of an unusual article in that it was by an oncologist but she was writing about dating advice that she gives to her friends. And she was talking about the men she sees in her waiting room and as I recall she specialized in women's cancer and she was saying how she sees these men from all walks of life coming in with their wives and then the women will go in for their treatment and the men will sit there frozen stiffly in the waiting room clutching their purses with white knuckles. It was a really, bittersweet article but that was the point that she tells her friends to stop searching that perfect guy based on his looks or his money, but instead to find that guy that would hold your purse if you got sick. I read the article and I sent it to Arcadya and I said when the do the respost I have to put this one for Hotch. She agreed. But given that Hotch had the little twist of observing the human condition, I figured (even if he was one of those guys) he'd pick up on the behavior more quickly and what it meant. So I thought that self awareness, and making himself loosen his grip, yet still holding that piece of her close to him, worked better for his character as we know it. And even though this is not a story "about" her being sick, I thought just touching base with them on day one in the clinic would add another layer to, not only their relationship, but also seeing them later on just trying to go about and live their lives like everything's normal. _

_If you read the first version of this story, you might recall there was a latter chapter that made reference to Emily having a friend at the clinic. Alexandra Ashby-Borland. No spoilers simply to say that she turns up later in the timeline, but as I was writing this scene it seemed likely that somebody would have taken pity on poor miserable Hotch and given him a little word of support. I don't know if "Diane" will turn up again, as I said, she's brand new, but never say never._

_So the next one here is still Sean's visit for New Year's and that's the last brand new one to draft that I have scheduled right now. Then like I've said, we'll be on blueprint again. _

_I should have a couple more things up this week. At least one new one shot, plus ongoing stuff. And I know everybody has their own personal favorite stories, but I do think (objectively speaking) that we really have been on a roll lately! Knock wood. There's been a little something for everybody at least. And I certainly think we've got a bigger variety of balls juggling right now than we've had in awhile. And though we'll be keeping all of those balls going that I've said are on the front burner, I do promise that Fracture and Aaron and Emily are next to get thrown up in the air. _


	9. I'll Take 'S' Words for 200 Alex

**Author's Note**:

First off, RL (skip to paragraph 2 if you don't care :)) didn't get ANYTHING written for half the week. If you follow my twitter you're aware of a bit of the RL reasons why that is, but long, 'one minor near death experience' explanation short, we're in the midst of a horrendous heat wave and the AC broke overnight Wednesday. And then a lot of other stuff happened. I've likened it to my own personal Final Destination, a bizarre chain of events and weird non-living entities trying to kill me. It was a long few days :) Then finally Friday night I thought I'd get some writing done but apparently you can't keep the human body running over 48 hours with just 2 staggered 2 hour naps. I know, right? So yeah, passed out cold for like 10 hours and finally got back to all the fake life stuff yesterday.

**So back to this.** I feel really, _really _badly that the repost here is taking so blessed long. I want to include a chapter on Sean's New Year's visit but that isn't done to my satisfaction so again, like with the Christmas chapter, nothing's gone up. Again though, Catholic guilt eating away at me for lack of posting in this world . . . so, I went digging into the original Hours looking for something I _could_ put up to maybe tide people over. If you read the original version you'll recall there were lots of little quick "day in the life" pop-ins with them not built around any particular time frame or larger story events. I found a cute little one I could mold into something that fit them on this day.

Originally this was just 750 words (that used to be an average size chapter for me, which was why I could post 3 or 4 times a week) but it is NOW over 4000 words. I fluffed it up a bit. Otherwise you would have gotten to the end and been like "that's it? We waited six months for _this_?" :) So yes, now it's a "full" read. And it's much, MUCH lighter than the last chapter. And if you read the original story post, you'll see the skeleton of that draft here in this one.

We left them Monday morning at the clinic, picking up Tuesday night, home after work.

**Twitter Account: ffsienna27 – For story announcements, etc. If the alerts . . . or the site . . . are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. Or as my intrepid followers learned this week, it's also the place to find out the reasons for the non-postings :)**

* * *

_End of December: Tuesday_**  
**

**I'll Take 'S' Words For $200 Alex**

As Charlie Gibson signed off the evening news, Emily put her hand up to stifle her fifth yawn of the half (news) hour.

Damn it . . . she rubbed her hand across her mouth . . . new radiation treatments or not, it was a little too early in the game for her to be passing out right after work. There'd be plenty of time for that crap later. And as much as she'd love to go down an entire _pot_ of coffee, as she checked the time on the cable box . . . just shy of seven pm . . . she was reminded that it was a bit too late in the day for her to drinking any coffee at all.

Ordinarily it wouldn't be, but she was planning on going to bed by ten to make sure that she was all rested up for Sean's visit the next day. So it would probably be good if she didn't get herself completely wired an hour before she'd be going up to dig out her pajamas.

Also though . . . Emily's gaze shifted over to Hotch flipping through his case files . . . if she made coffee now then he'd want some too. And though Hotch did not know this yet, he was in the process of breaking his caffeine addiction.

Okay . . . she rolled her eyes slightly . . . yes fine, _she _was the one that was in the process of breaking his caffeine addiction. But really, it wasn't good for a man his age to be drinking three liters of coffee a day. Really, it wasn't good for a man of ANY age to be drinking three liters of coffee a day! But certainly not one in an incredibly high stress job that was now rounding the curve towards the mid-century mark.

Just because he was lean and fit didn't mean that he couldn't still be susceptible to a heart attack or a stroke.

So since they'd officially moved in together . . . and she had more general control over his diet . . . Emily had begun slowly cutting back on his caffeine intake. It had started at home by switching out their normal morning coffee with half caf. And then this week at work, she'd started alternating every other cup he drank with decaf.

He hadn't seemed to have noticed yet.

Or if he had . . . Emily's lips twitched as she saw his hair sticking up in front, he'd been running his fingers through it . . . then he was being good and not complaining about it. It was kind of like those old Folger's commercials but without the fancy china or ambush TV cameras.

Basically her goal was to have him down to two cups a day by spring.

So that meant . . . she leaned over to fix his hair from its impromptu semi Mohawk state . . . no coffee for either of them tonight.

And seeing that Hotch was too engrossed in his reading to even notice her fussing with his hair, Emily's lips twitched.

_So cute when he was being oblivious._

"Honey," her hand slid down, brushing over his cheek as she stood up, "I'm going to go make some tea. Do you want any?"

Still staring down at the open case file spread out on the coffee table, Hotch murmured back a half interested, "k" to whatever it was that Emily had just said. But then a split second later his brain processed the words she'd actually uttered, and realized that "k" wasn't actually an appropriate response to her beverage question.

He looked up at her with a little smile.

"Yes please," he reached up to squeeze her fingers, "thanks."

Apparently tea was yet another 'caffeine substitute' she was trying out on him. Yes, he'd noticed the surreptitious decaf replacements, and yes, he was going along with them without argument. After all, all she was trying to do was help him to live a long and healthy life . . . and that's all he wanted for her too.

For her to live forever.

And besides that . . . his worried gaze followed after Emily as she left the room covering another yawn . . . if something happened to him, what would happen to her?

Really . . . a knot twisted in his stomach . . . who would take care of his girl if he was gone?

Realizing that he was allowing his brain to go down a bad road . . . the one where one of them had to go on without the other . . . Hotch's attention snapped back to the parole review on the table.

Yeah . . . he shook his head slightly as he picked up his pen . . . best to get back to work now.

/*/*/*/*/

Emily gave the dishes a disinterested glance before shaking her head slightly and moving over to pick up the kettle . . . they could wait until morning. Really . . . she walked over to turn on the faucet . . . she was too damn tired to think about doing housework. But given that Hotch had made their delicious dinner of homemade mac & cheese . . . she'd been a little nauseous from the radiation treatment so he'd wanted her to have something easy on the stomach . . . it was only right that she clean up. The most important thing was eliciting the promise from Hotch to make sure that _he _didn't cleanup after she went to bed.

It wouldn't be the first time that he had done that.

And thinking about that . . . and thinking about a likely future possibly mere weeks away when she would truly be at a point of exhaustion that would make her incapable of sharing _any_ of the household chores . . . Emily took a breath and closed her eyes.

Time to suck it up.

So when she opened her eyes again, she went over to place the kettle on the stove. After that, she pushed up the sleeves of Hotch's black hoodie and walked over to turn on the hot water. And then she started doing what she had decided a minute ago could wait until morning.

The dishes.

And as she placed the cheesy baking dish into it's slowly rising hot, sudsy bath, from behind her Emily heard a strange sound. Her eyebrow quirked up.

Hotch seemed to be talking to himself.

Or actually . . . she turned her head slightly to see what it was on the TV . . . apparently he was talking to Alex Trebek.

"_What is 1854?" _

Pause for the actual Jeopardy participants to do their parts.

"_Who were the Mennonites?"_

Pause for the actual Jeopardy participants to do their parts.

"_What are The Aleutian Islands?"_

And hearing the steady stream of questions continuing to float in from the living room, Emily's lips began to twitch as she turned back to her pot scrubbing.

That would be the love of her life . . . Mr. _What Was the Land Act of 1820?_ . . . playing Jeopardy.

Not that this was the first time that Emily had heard Hotch mutter a Jeopardy answer before. Everybody did it. And over the last six months of their relationship . . . since they'd been spending time at one another's apartments . . . they'd certainly had Jeopardy on many times after work.

But the difference was that usually _she_ was the one that was really watching the show . . . well, half watching, half mocking Alex's general pomposity . . . while Hotch just piped up occasionally when he focused in one of the categories. Really, Hotch wasn't much for dedicated TV watching unless he was in full decompression mode and cuddling up with her on the couch.

Tonight was clearly different though.

Tonight she'd just seen him sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, shirt sleeves rolled up, interrogation level intensity in his voice, as he quietly rattled off one answer after another.

It was flipping adorable.

And so on and so on he went as she cleaned up the kitchen and the tea water continued to boil away. Even when the kettle started to whistle and Emily heard single Jeopardy moving into double, it was obvious that Hotch was still really into it.

"_What are the Ural Mountains?"_

"_What is zinc oxide?"_

"_Who was Dolly Madison?"_

He was on fire! And Emily started to chuckle as she began to pour the water into their mugs. But then a minute later . . . as she looked up to see Hotch had just kicked ass on the _second _Daily Double . . . Emily's amusement at his very un-Hotchlike game show playing, morphed into a ridiculous surge of pride and affection.

'_He hadn't missed a question yet!' _

But of course . . . a soft smile crossed Emily's lips as she added a dash of milk and sugar to each cup . . . her man was one smart cookie. Not that that meant a little teasing wasn't still in order.

She picked up the mugs and started out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

After all . . . she paused, leaning over to place the 'too hot to drink yet' tea on the coffee table . . . there was a karmic balance to maintain. A careful ying and yang to their relationship.

A regular busting of balls.

So after Emily had sat back down on the couch, she moved around so she could kneel between Hotch and the back cushion. Then she put her chin on his shoulder as her hands rubbed slowly down his biceps.

"So can we go to Vegas with your winnings?" She asked quietly.

Hotch ignored Emily's question for a moment so he could give Alex one.

"Who were the Lakota?"

And then . . . seeing the show was going to commercial break . . . Hotch turned his head slightly to look at Emily leaning over his shoulder.

"Can I presume that you are making fun of me?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Knowing her . . . yes.

"No" Emily shook her head emphatically, "not at all." And then a second later her lip quirked up, "okay, yes," she nodded, "yes, very much so."

It was no fun to play with him if he didn't know for sure that he was being played.

Hotch rolled his eyes before shifting slightly, "thank you sweetheart," he pulled her around and into his lap with a grunt, "your support always means so much to me."

Next to Dave and Sean . . . the latter of whom he hardly ever saw . . . Emily was the only person in Hotch's life who felt free to openly mock him on any and all topics. And with Emily in particular, this was something . . . Hotch's eyes fell shut for a moment as he buried his face in her hair . . . that though on occasion could drive him nuts, mostly he could no longer imagine his life without.

Because that would be a life without Emily.

And that . . . he squeezed her tightly . . . just wasn't something that could be comprehended.

Emily grinned as Hotch wrapped her up in his arms.

"That's what I'm here for honey," she gently patted his cheek, "support."

There . . . she slipped one arm around his waist as she snuggled against his chest . . . daily mocking of Hotch complete, karmic balance in order.

Though as Emily slowly sighed against Hotch's throat, she suddenly remembered the bigger picture there . . . what a flipping genius he was! Just because she enjoyed teasing him . . . it helped to keep his 'Hotch'tensity' in check, which was in turn good for his health . . . didn't mean that glowing praise wasn't also given wherever and whenever it was due.

And as she saw Alex's face appear back on the screen, Emily smacked Hotch's chest.

"Oh but wait," she continued with an enthusiastic bounce, "I almost forgot to point out how smart you are!" She pointed at the screen.

"Look at that! You're TOTALLY kicking Norman's ass!"

Norman of course being today's reigning champion.

Hotch's lips twitched slightly at Emily's praise.

"Again," he huffed in amusement as he kissed her temple, "thank you for the support sweetheart."

That one was actually sincere . . . he laced his fingers through hers . . . on both sides. And Hotch was just about to ask Emily how her stomach was feeling since dinner, when Alex Trebek interrupted his thoughts.

Ah . . . Hotch's attention shifted as his fingers tightened around Emily's . . . final Jeopardy.

"_Inventors. This woman patented the windshield wiper in 1905." _

And the music began.

And Hotch . . . realizing immediately that he didn't know a damn thing about windshield wipers except that they seemed to be pretty handy at scraping water off of glass . . . scowled slightly at the television.

Damn. His streak was going to be broken.

Not that he'd set out to become "Jeopardy Champion" that evening, but it was irritating to come THAT close to pitching a perfect game, and then lose it all on _windshield_ wipers of all things!

Though . . . he felt a little burst of self-satisfaction as Alex began polling the players . . . it appeared that neither "Jen" nor "Kate" nor . . . Hotch's his brow quirked up as he waited for the final response . . . yes . . . "Norman" had a clue either.

Straight down the row they had bright blue question marks on their screens.

Good . . . Hotch nodded to himself as he placed a satisfied kiss on Emily's temple . . . at least he hadn't missed an obvious one.

Apparently _nobody _knew who had invented the windshield wiper.

But then just before Alex made the big reveal, Hotch heard Emily whisper.

"Who was Mary Anderson?"

And a split second later . . . Alex confirmed her answer was correct. Hotch looked down at Emily in disbelief.

"How did you know that utterly _obscure_ piece of information?"

Emily shrugged.

"I just did," she gave him a soft smile, "but I wanted to give you time to answer it first so I wouldn't break your streak."

She'd actually known lots of the answers, but again, she hadn't wanted to break his streak. It was rare that he did something so ridiculously normal as play along with a game show.

Far be it for her to even consider ruining his fun.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he leaned down to give Emily a thank you kiss. And as he leaned back, he also gave her a little thank you smile.

"That was very sweet Emily," he said as he looked back to the screen with a small huff, "but unfortunately I broke my streak all on my own."

"Hey now," Emily brow wrinkled slightly as she patted his hand, "don't forget, between the two of us we covered the _entire_ board. And that _sir_," she smirked as he looked back down at her in amusement, "is why we make such a perfect team."

One of the reasons anyway. But yeah, if they ever had a Couples week on Jeopardy she was SO signing them up!

"You think so, huh?" Hotch asked with faint dimple.

It didn't matter the situation, Emily was always the Sunny Side of the Street Girl. Which was reason number two hundred and fifty-seven that meeting the woman in his arms was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Next to the birth of his son of course.

"I KNOW so baby!" Emily responded with another smooch on the lips. And he started to chuckle as she checked the time again.

"Okay," she forward slightly to grab her cooling cup of tea off the coffee table. "It's still early so," she took a little sip before looking up at him hopefully, "how about we see what Pat Sajak is bringing to the table?"

Wheel of Fortune wasn't generally Hotch's cup of tea . . . pun incidental given her beverage of choice that evening . . . but it was fun playing goofy game shows together like regular people. It was almost like they had a Normal life.

Almost.

Hotch looked down at the stack of ugly files still spread across the table, and then back to Emily's pretty . . . faintly pouty . . . lips.

No contest.

"Winner tells Reid it's time for another haircut?" He asked with a faint quirk of his eyebrow.

They'd come in twenty minutes late yesterday to find that Garcia had put Reid's hair in braids . . . braids. Hotch's eyes had nearly bugged out, and if not for the fact that Emily . . . who had just had one of the worst mornings of her life . . . had laughed so hard that tears ran down her face, Hotch would have pulled the kid into his office that afternoon to point out that it was probably time for a trip back to the barber's.

He'd actually kind of hoped that Reid would somehow see on his own that an active duty federal agent . . . with a penis . . . couldn't come to work with hair pulled back like Pippi Longstocking. But then he'd shown up again today with the braids still in exclaiming how convenient it was to have it out of his face.

Apparently simply CUTTING it had not occurred to him.

Emily's mouth quivered as she flashed on yesterday morning's break room scene of Reid's exuberant extolling of the virtues of his new hairstyle . . . and the simultaneous triple jaw drops of Hotch, Dave and Morgan.

The absolute insanity that was her work family had been just what she'd needed after the morning they'd had. Still though, Reid obviously couldn't keep that look when they went back into the field.

They'd be laughed out of every precinct house in the country.

So her lip quirked up as she put her hand out.

"Deal."

And after she and Hotch had shaken on it . . . with a kiss for good measure, because really that was the best way to seal any agreement . . . they settled back on the couch with their mugs of tea waiting for the show to begin. But when Pat appeared on the screen and began introducing the contestants, Emily's eyes lit up.

"Oh!" She smacked Hotch's chest excitedly with her free hand, "do you think that we could . . ."

"No Emily."

"But . . ."

"No."

"Fine," a pathetic sigh escaped as she leaned back against his chest again. Then she started thinking about her earlier idea.

"What about Jeopardy?" She whispered as the wheel began to spin.

For a moment Hotch was quiet, tapping his fingers on Emily's knee as he watched the Cs light up on the screen. Finally he took a sip of tea . . . and then he sighed.

"I suppose."

"YAY!" She smacked a kiss on his cheek, "we're going to be on COUPLES Jeopardy!"

Yes!

"Emily," Hotch snorted, "you do know that there's currently no . . ."

"I'm sorry," Emily interrupted with her hand raised to her ear, "there's no what?"

Silly man.

Hotch looked at his girlfriend, then back to the television, then back to his girlfriend again. Her eyes were sparkling and he knew then exactly what was expected of him.

To play along.

"I was just saying," he said with an amused eyebrow, "that there's no _way_ that we wouldn't be five time Couples Jeopardy champions."

If such a thing existed as Couples Jeopardy existed of course . . . which it did not. But that didn't matter, what mattered was keeping Emily amused. So when he saw her grin at his response, one of his dimples slid out.

"That," she leaned up slightly to smack a kiss on his lips, "was what I thought you were going to say."

Just as Emily pulled away, her eyes drifted back to the television screen. She yelped, nearly spilling her tea in the process.

"Ooh! Some Like It Hot Cup Of Coffee!"

"What?" Hotch's eyes snapped back to the show.

"Damn it Emily!" He yelled, "you distracted me with kissing!" He shot her a look, "_That_ one doesn't count."

Yes, Reid was technically his responsibility but if he had to open one more conversation with "Spencer, we need to talk about your hair," he was going to lose it.

Emily stared back at Hotch, jaw twitching as she considered whether to count that one or not. Her competitive streak said yes, of course it did.

Everything always counted.

But then she remembered how incredibly sweet and supportive Hotch been at her appointment the morning before, how he'd even helped her make a friend.

Diane.

The woman who came into the back at the clinic and asked for the chair next to hers. And then she told her that she'd just met her husband in the waiting room and promised him that she'd come say hi and tell her the ropes.

Emily had smiled even as tears filled her eyes.

So for that moment . . . for him finding her somebody to share the part of her journey that he couldn't . . . she let it go.

"You're right," her fingers tangled with his as she dropped her head back to his chest, "best of three starting now." Then she tipped her head back, a little grin on her face as she looked up at him.

"Still going to kick your butt though."

Maybe. Or maybe . . . she giggled as he poked her in the side . . . she'd let him win. Because that's what you did for the people you loved.

You did what you could to make life better for them.

So when the next puzzle began to take shape on the screen, she bit down her tongue, waiting for Hotch to get it first. And two seconds later when he blurted out the answer, she feigned a bluster and huffed that it was a lucky guess. And as he harrumphed at her poor sportsmanship and threatened to take JJ with him to Couples Jeopardy instead, Emily tucked her head back under his chin and grinned again . . . . some days it was more fun to lose than win.

_Today was one of those days._

* * *

_A/N 2: There you go. Another shot at Reid's hair (I think braids is the only thing we haven't seen him in, though I'd swear I have seen a picture of MGG with them) and unapologetic fluff and romance. And way fluffier and more romantic than the first posting. While my head's still in this place, I'm going to take another stab at the Sean visit chapter (I do have a chunk of it written) to see if I can get that pulled together this week too. As soon as I get over that hump, then I'll be back to dusting off these original chapters again. Trust me when I say, I'm looking forward to it as much as you folks are!  
_

_Next posting will be the bikini shopping story that was referenced as a possibility in the Bartholomew Cubbins tale. That should be up tomorrow night. Then, maybe Fracture or the next Hours. _

_Hopefully this will tide you guys over though :)_


	10. Nightmares

**Author's Note**: In case you aren't aware, it's been a tumultuous month, earthquake, hurricane . . . moving. All the big life disasters. Though it's that last one that's really been putting a crimp in everything. Yes, you technically move on ONE day but there's a lot of pre/post prep work involved that is pretty much a full time sucker, in that it SUCKS and it takes all of your time.

But in an effort not to fall into that HUGE posting gap situation again _here_ (next to Fracture this story is the most susceptible to that), I decided not to attempt to write a New Year's chapter as a focus (my skeleton wasn't pulling together fast enough) so I worked the event in here as a brief acknowledgment, but the chapter's not about the holiday. And I was planning to have this be a cobbling of two of the original chapters from the first posting, but migraines have been conspiring against me this week. So I'm sticking with the format I used in the first version, breaking the event up half Hotch's POV, half Emily's.

So, here it's _well_ after midnight on New Year's Eve/Day 2009. Opening w/Hotch.

* * *

**Nightmares . . . **

With a strangled cry, Hotch bolted upright in bed. He was choking, gasping, and . . . he swiped his hand across his face . . . crying.

_Christ! That was a hell of a nightmare!_

With another ragged gasp, he snapped his wet eyes down to see Emily curled up beside him, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the blankets. Even in shadows it was clear that she was still sound asleep, her breath . . . unlike his . . . coming in slow and even exhalations.

A peaceful slumber.

Feeling a wave of love and protectiveness wash over him, Hotch wiped his remaining tears away with one hand as he tentatively reached down with the other to run his finger along her cheek.

The touch was light and gentle. He didn't want to wake her . . . he just had to make sure that she was real. That she was warm.

That she was alive.

Because . . . his breath caught again as he flashed on the images from his nightmare . . . he'd dreamt that she wasn't. Not only had she died, but she'd died over and over . . . his eyes began to burn once more as he brushed a kiss to her skin . . . and over again.

. . . There was Derek screaming on the radio that the takedown had gone bad, that Emily had been hit . . . the bullet going under her arm and through her vest

. . . Then the phone call in the middle of the night from the Duty Agent . . . the jet had crashed . . . there were no survivors

. . . The State troopers knocking at the door asking if he was Aaron Hotchner, could they come in and speak to him . . . Hotch looking to the side and seeing the chaplain holding a rosary

. . . And then there was the last one . . . his teeth sunk into his lip . . . the absolute worst one. The doctor coming out from behind that blue curtain, telling him that there was nothing that they could do. That it had spread too far, that she had one month left.

Maybe two.

Those were just the images that Hotch could recall in the most detail, that were causing him the most trauma. But he knew that wasn't all that there had been. There were more shadows just beyond his mind's eye. Because in his nightmare, every possible way that he could lose her . . . he did.

And God only knew how long those horrific scenes had circled through his brain, but given the fear and grief still wracking his body, it felt like an eternity. Which was why he was somewhat surprised when he turned to check the time on the alarm clock, only to discover that it was just four seventeen. Not that that wasn't late, it was, but he knew that he hadn't actually been sleeping that long. Sean had left just after midnight and he and Emily had gone to bed immediately after. They'd made love . . . Emily had insisted it was the only way to start off the new year . . . then fallen asleep. Then sometime after two they'd both been yanked back to consciousness by Emily's sobbing. Her cries weren't like his had been though. They weren't the trauma from a nightmare. She'd been in physical pain.

Agony.

It had been her worst headache to date. So bad in fact that she'd been reduced . . . though grudgingly and at his behest . . . to taking one of her new pills simply to dull the pain enough to stop crying. And it had worked.

Tonight anyway.

Hotch knew though that the pressure on her brain could eventually get so bad that there would be no drugs to help her. But for now he'd take whatever little bottled miracle they could get. And those pills truly were a miracle, because they'd not only dulled her headache, but actually put her back to sleep again. Though it had been a long . . . exhausting . . . day, so that development wasn't entirely unexpected. Really if not for that headache, there was no way that Emily would have woken before dawn. Probably much later.

They'd actually had plans to sleep in.

Well, sleep in to the extent possible anyway given that Jack was in the house. But once Hotch had seen how badly Emily was suffering, how much the tumor had progressed, all thoughts of any further rest had fled. In their place a new fear gripped his mind.

What if something happened to her in her sleep?

What if she didn't wake up?

That was a completely new horror show. The one place that she should have been absolutely safe . . . lying in his arms . . . had just proven itself to be as much of a minefield as any day out on the job.

There was no safety anywhere.

And given that soul deadening thought had been on his mind when he passed out again, there was little surprise really where those nightmares had come from. And though Hotch would never wish his girl any pain, and would take this burden from her in an instant, he did allow that her having taken that pill tonight had been fortunate. Because otherwise he most certainly would have woken her up a moment ago. And in these first moments up out of the depths, there was no way that he would have been able to hide his terror.

And it would have crushed her.

She would have felt that it were _her_ fault that _his_ subconscious was tormenting him.

A sad smile touched his lips.

'_My sweet girl,'_ Hotch thought as his fingers brushed along her cheek again. And though he was very grateful that she _was_ still sleeping, still part of him desperately wanted to wake her up. To have her comfort him and tell him that it was okay.

Because that was her job.

For months now Emily had been his person. The one he turned to for everything, and right now his gut was aching and he needed her to make it better. But this was one burden that he knew that he was going to have to carry alone. Because this was one thing that he could never share with her. It would just be too cruel. Christ . . . his fingers dug into his palm . . . how do you tell the love of your life that in his dreams she'd just died . . . in graphic detail . . . twenty times over?

You don't.

You don't tell people you love those kinds of dreams. Those kinds of dreams you keep to yourself. Especially given that his brain hadn't just conjured up a series of wildly implausible scenarios.

Every single one of them . . . blue curtain included . . . was dead on.

They _could_ happen . . . his stomach twisted into another knot . . . they really could. And if any of those things happened, how would he go on living his life without her? Just the thought of it was enough to make him want to throw up.

So with a queasy stomach, an ache in his chest and a throbbing at the base of his skull . . . a nice tension headache setting up basecamp . . . Hotch swung his legs to the side and his feet to the floor.

Though the lights were off, there was still a small patch of moonlight peeking around the curtains. And with that faint glow it took him only a moment of fumbling in the semi-darkness before he found his boxers lying on the floor by Emily's night stand.

As he stepped into them, his gaze caught on her blue silk nightgown dangling off the far edge of the mattress. It had been tossed there hours earlier when they'd made love.

Feeling that ache in his chest spread up and form a lump in his throat, Hotch blinked away the moisture that was again beginning to cloud his vision. He needed to leave before she awoke to find him in such a state.

He would have no good explanation for being on the verge of tears.

And though he knew he needed to go, before he left the room Hotch crossed back to the bed and tucked the covers up tightly over Emily's bare shoulders. She so easily caught a chill that she only slept naked if he was there to keep her warm. But he was leaving . . . he lightly pressed a kiss to her temple . . . and he didn't want her to get cold in his absence.

Finally, he reluctantly pulled away . . . he was always reluctant to leave her now . . . and started towards the door.

Maybe some milk . . . his jaw twitched as his eyes watered . . . maybe some whiskey.

After he stepped into the hall, Hotch turned back to see Emily was curling herself around his pillow. The tears pooled as he blew her a kiss.

'_Sleep well sweetheart.'_

And he pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

_A/N 2: I know this isn't as long as you're now accustomed to from me, but it's actually THREE times as long as it was on the original post. And like the original post, this is a two parter and the rest will be up in a day or so. Like I said, migraines this week. _

_And again, all the move crap (plus a whole weekend lost to Irene) has prevented me from working on anything the last couple weeks. So my drafts are not in a condition that pleases me, but I think I'm settled enough to start a regular writing routine again. And even if I'm not, I'm really going to make myself try. A little vote on twitter has determined consensus is people would like a Second Chances update sooner than later :) I will make myself focus on that, but I have minimal draft there right now so in the meantime I might have a couple of other shorter chapters I can clean up too. Basically if the headaches go (and God help me if they don't!) then should be a couple posts for the weekend. _


	11. Dreamscapes

**Author's Note**: This is the companion chapter to the last one. Last one was Hotch, this one's pretty much all Emily and we're picking up a few minutes later.

* * *

**Dreamscapes**

Emily was shivering.

What the . . . her eyes popped open, the blankets falling from her shoulders to her waist as she sat up feeling groggy and out of sorts. She quickly crossed her arms and rubbed her hands along her cold skin, trying to quell the goose bumps that had formed.

"Why is it so cold?"

The question was directed to Hotch, but then Emily realized that he wasn't there. She was alone. Her brow wrinkled slightly in confusion as she turned to look at the clock.

4:37 am.

Aaron had been lying next to her when she'd fallen asleep. But now she was alone and that was very odd. Since they'd gotten together . . . and really probably for months before that . . . Hotch had never left her while she was sleeping. And he'd certainly never left her if she was sick in any way . . . most recently nursing a tumor induced headache . . . which she had been the last time she'd seen him.

It was actually a headache so bad that there had been tears running down her face when she'd woken him up. Emily's expression softened as she thought back to how he'd immediately jumped out bed, hurrying into the bathroom to get her new prescription. But as bad as the pain had been . . . the worst so far . . . she hadn't wanted to take the new pills. So she told him no as she pushed the bottle back, telling him that Tylenol would be fine.

That it wasn't that bad.

He'd gotten angry. Telling her that the pain was obviously _very_ bad and that was a fact _very_ obvious to him. And seeing that her white lies were falling on deaf ears, Emily had whispered the watery truth.

That taking the pill was admitting defeat.

It was admitting that the disease was taking over her life.

That's when his anger had washed away. He'd kissed her forehead as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. Then he told her that she was being silly, that taking the pill was actually taking back her life. It would take away her pain and that would take away the power of the disease. And really, if she didn't want to do it for herself, could she please do it for him.

Because he couldn't bear to see her hurting that way.

His voice had cracked at the end, and that's when she had seen that she was being selfish. That in the reverse, she would have been furious with him for being so stupid and stubborn. So for Aaron . . . to take away _his_ pain, if not hers . . . she had taken the new pill. And shortly thereafter . . . with a naked Hotch wrapped tightly around her body and rubbing gentle patterns on her stomach . . . she had fallen back to sleep. And then . . . her eyes crinkled . . . she'd had _wonderful_ dreams!

. . . A day on the beach with the wind in her hair and Hotch's strong fingers in her grasp . . . Jack making castles in the sand nearby

. . . Hotch crouching down on one knee . . . her crying as she said, "yes! Yes!"

. . . The church and her boys, the big one and the little one in matching tuxes, matching grins and matching dimples

. . . And the best one . . . the stick that had turned blue, that wonderful blue! She saw Aaron coming home and her telling him seven months, maybe eight.

There were others too, more than she could remember in full detail, but that was the last one. The one that had caused her to awaken with a smile.

And a shiver.

After all these weeks of constant togetherness, it was clear that her body could sense now when Hotch was gone. And really . . . her eyes scanned the room in the fading moonlight . . . where _had_ he gone? The bathroom door was still open and she could see that it was dark in there.

Which left . . . Emily swung her legs to the side . . . downstairs.

Still shivering, Emily hurriedly crossed the room, reaching for the new lined red silk robe slung over the chair by the window. It was a gift that Hotch had given her Monday night.

The night of her first radiation treatment.

When she tried it on and realized that it was as warm as it was beautiful, she'd grinned like an idiot as she asked him why he'd been hiding such a wonderful Christmas present from her. And he'd shaken his head and said it wasn't a Christmas present. It was a present, "just because." Then he'd smiled and kissed her forehead before he went off to make her tea.

And she knew then . . . as he walked away . . . that she was starting to fall in love with him all over again. And that was a blessing that she wouldn't take for granted. 'She wouldn't take _him_ for granted,' she vowed as she crossed over the threshold of the bedroom and headed for the landing. As she started down the staircase, Emily slowed as the glow of the television came into sight. There were ocean scenes on the screen.

But the TV was silent.

Hotch was apparently watching nature documentaries on mute at four something in the morning. That wasn't good. And also . . . her gaze narrowed slightly . . . there was whiskey on the table.

That was even worse.

"Aaron?"

Hotch looked over his shoulder, surprised to Emily up so soon after him. He'd just left her ten minutes ago.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he said softly, "did I wake you?"

After taking in his pensive stare . . . and the alcohol in his hand . . . Emily gave Hotch a small smile.

"No," her lip quirked up slightly, "you did not wake me while you sat in the dark with the television on mute." Then she stepped onto the cold wood floor as she added drily. "But most people would definitely consider that pretty disruptive behavior."

It was clear that if he was up like this in the middle of the night, that something was very wrong. But still, Emily had hoped that maybe she could joke a smile out of him. That usually worked. But tonight she saw only a slight twitch on one side of his upper lip . . . and then he turned his attention back to his whiskey.

Her heart sank as he took another swig . . . no joking him out of this one.

So with her stomach twisting with anxiety, Emily crossed over to the couch and reached down to take the glass out of his hand. It spoke volumes about his mood that he didn't resist . . . or even protest . . . the loss of his drink.

As she placed the glass on the table, she turned back to him with a small frown.

"Honey," she asked worriedly, "what's wrong? Why are you up?"

Though it was a direct interrogatory, he didn't acknowledge the question. He just continued to stare at the silent television as he murmured back, "you should be in bed sweetheart." And that was it. He didn't even look at her. He didn't lie . . . he didn't say nothing was wrong . . . he just ignored the question. He was shutting down.

He was shutting her out.

Well . . . her eyes began to sting as she stood there looking down at him . . . that just wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. They weren't allowed to shut each other out. They were supposed to be sharing everything. Those were his rules, the ones that he reminded her of whenever she tried to shield him from her pain or her fears. He said no secrets. He said that their relationship would never survive her illness if they didn't stick together for every step of it. And now here he was . . . her fingers curled into two tights fists . . . sitting down here in the dark.

Drinking.

Alone.

And that's when her heart began pounding in her chest. Hotch rarely drank alone. Really, he only pulled out the Jameson's after the worst of their worst days. And since she'd started taking her medication he'd stopped drinking all together. It was an act of solidarity.

An act of love.

So what in God's name could have happened to cause him to pull out the bottle tonight? Yes, she'd woken up with a bad headache, but it was hardly the first one. And it would hardly be the last one. Not for some months. So there had to be something more going on.

Something he clearly didn't want to share with her.

It had taken Emily months to crack that protective shell that had enveloped Hotch for so many years. And now she was afraid that if he started to cut off his emotions again . . . most particularly if he cut them off from _her_ . . . that he'd fall back into that old pattern.

The one that had been eating him up from the inside out.

Even if he thought that was how best to protect her . . . and she had no doubt that's what he was doing right now, protecting her from whatever he was going through . . . he was wrong. And Emily knew that if she left him there alone . . . left him as he so clearly was hoping that she would . . . that it would be the worst thing for them. It would be a little chip in their bond. Just a tiny crack . . . but a crack was something that could grow.

Something that could eventually ruin them.

And that meant . . . she took a breath . . . that she needed to fix this little thing now before it became a huge thing later. So she decided to completely ignore his body language . . . you didn't need to be a behaviorist to understand the silent scream of, "leave me alone!" . . . and instead simply reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. When he shifted slightly, turning his body just another millimeter away from hers, she felt a stab of pain at the rejection. But that's also when she just said screw it and took the bull by the horns.

So with him still trying to ignore her . . . he was no longer even pretending to watch the television . . . she moved around the couch and climbed into his lap.

In the process of moving her body onto his, the silken robe slipped, exposing one leg from ankle to thigh. Ordinarily both Hotch's eyes . . . and his fingers . . . would have followed along that expanse of newly bare skin.

This time though, he didn't even spare it a glance.

'_Oh honey . . . what's wrong with you?'_

With her heart aching, Emily pressed a kiss to Hotch's cheek. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him close.

Still though, his body remained rigid against hers, his arms tight at his sides. And that was killing her more than his silence, because for months now . . . even back to the summer . . . the second she initiated physical contact of any kind, be it a hug or a kiss . . . or even just reaching for his hand . . . he always responded immediately.

He always responded in kind.

But not now. And the longer he went without touching her, the more terrified she was. It wasn't really just the hurt at being rejected . . . she knew without question that he loved her . . . it was the hurt that he was hiding something from her.

Something big.

"Aaron," her voice was hoarse as she pleaded softly in his ear, "honey, you're scaring me. Please tell me what's wrong."

In response, Emily heard a faint, "please go to bed Emily," which she ignored. Instead she tightened her hold, tucking his head against hers as she responded firmly. "No. No, I'm not going to bed until you tell me what's wrong. I'm not leaving you here like this. So if you want to stay up all night," she kissed his temple, "then I'm staying here with you."

She knew that would get him, but still he held out for another full minute. Her man was stubborn. But then Emily heard him whisper softly, "I had a bad dream."

And he stopped.

And though she wanted to prompt him further, it was clear that he was done speaking. And a second later it all became clear. The words were so simple.

He had a bad dream.

A dream bad enough to drive him from their bed in search of solitude and alcohol. A dream that was now preventing her kind and loving man . . . a man that she knew with due modesty, adored her with all of his heart . . . from neither touching her nor looking at her. This was not rocket science.

That dream was about her.

And that meant that this was something that she could fix.

"Honey," she murmured in his ear, "if your bad dream was about," her voice thickened as the words started to fade, "about something . . . about me leaving you. Well," she sniffled as her eyes started to burn, "you just put it out of your head, because I'm _not_ leaving you. Not ever. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

No sooner had the words left her mouth, then suddenly Emily was engulfed in Hotch's arms. The hug was fierce . . . and desperate . . . and a few of those hovering tears began to slide down her cheek.

"I love you so much Emily."

His voice cracked on her name . . . and then her tears were a flood.

"I love you too Aaron," she rubbed his back, "and I promise that no matter happens, I'll always be with you."

Like him, her voice broke on the last word. Then she kissed his temple and he tugged her closer still. When he buried his face in the nape of her neck, she felt a little tickle on her breast from the warmth of his breath. And then a second later the tickle was from the warmth of his tears.

They became a river.

It was the first time that he'd ever cried in front of her. Really cried, like his heart was breaking. And given how tightly he was holding her, she believed that it was.

And that meant that hers was too.

That was the way love worked. You hurt when he hurt. But as she cuddled him close and rubbed his back, all she could think about was that dream that she'd had . . . and how she wished that she could have shared it with him. Because then he would know what she already did. That they had lots of good days ahead.

Of that she was sure.

Today anyway . . . she wiped away another tear that slipped down her cheek . . . and today was really all that mattered. Because today was the day that they needed to get through. And today he needed her to be the strong one. So today she would take care of him. Because they were partners.

In every sense of the word.

So Emily waited until Hotch's quiet sobs tapered off, and then slowly she started to feel the shift in his body. In his spirit. The hand on her waist came up to scrub across his face. Then there was a sniffle . . . and a sigh. And a husky murmur on her skin.

"I'm sorry."

The remorse was clear in his tone, the belief that by letting go . . . by letting her in . . . he was letting her down.

Silly man.

"Aaron," she whispered as her fingers stroked through his hair, "why would you apologize for showing me how much you love me?"

At Emily words, slowly Hotch lifted his head. Their eyes locked.

"I would never apologize for that." He whispered back.

"All right," she gave him a sad smile, "then you need to stop feeling guilty for having the same breakdown that I had two weeks ago. It's okay," she cupped his jaw, "_I'm_ okay."

It took only a second for Emily to see the impact of what she'd said. Hotch's eyes brightened ever so slightly . . . almost in surprise that she knew what he was thinking . . . and then he reached out to touch her cheek.

"How's your head?" He asked worriedly.

Not that he'd forgotten about her headache . . . not possible . . . but he'd been so busy trying to shut her out that he'd disengaged from even that level of contact.

"You were right about the pill," she said softly as her lip quirked up, "it did make it better. But do you know what would make things better still?" She asked on a sigh as she put her head down to snuggle against his chest.

"What?" Hotch sniffled slightly as he tucked Emily closer, taking a second to kiss the top of her head, "what do you need sweetheart?"

Though he was truly sorry that he'd broken down that way in front of her . . . and he'd not missed the tears that she'd shed as well . . . as he'd hoped, she had made him feel better. That's what Emily did, she made his life better. And really, he should have anticipated this turn of events. She'd known immediately that his subdued behavior was because of her.

But of course the woman had been able to read his mind for years.

Knowing from the gentle rubbing of Hotch's hand up and down her back, that he was trying to sooth her to sleep again, Emily decided to help things along in that department.

She was still pretty damn tired.

"I need you to come upstairs with me now." She tipped her head back to him a little smile, "you know I can't sleep naked by myself," she dropped her head back down to murmur against his throat, "I get cold, and then I have to put more clothes on, and God knows you don't want that happening."

Her flannel Hello Kitty pajamas were folded at the ready, but really she much preferred her Hotch Blanket these days.

"No," Hotch chuckled slightly as he wiped the remaining bit of moisture from the corner of his eye, "God knows we don't want you putting clothes on."

And just like that, she'd made his world right again.

Emily smiled against his chest. "Then we'd better get moving." And with that she shifted slightly to drop her feet back to the cold floor. But before she could move to stand, Hotch had slipped his grip around to lift her in his arms. Then he pushed himself off the couch and came to his feet.

Apparently she was getting a ride upstairs.

And knowing that this was not a point of negotiation with her overprotective . . . still slightly overwrought . . . boyfriend, Emily simply slipped her arm around his neck and settled against his chest. If his dream had been bad enough to reduce him the state she'd found him in twenty minutes ago, then she knew that this would make him feel better. Really it was unlikely that he'd be letting her out of his sight for the rest of the weekend. And she was okay with that.

Being alone was overrated.

As Hoch clicked off the television and they started towards the stairs, Emily knew that there was one point that she needed to address before they got back to bed.

She tipped her head back slightly to look up at him.

"I dreamt that we took Jack to the beach and he made castles in the sand."

If it was within her power, she was going to make damn sure that Hotch went to sleep with only good thoughts in his head. No more bad dreams tonight.

Feeling his eyes start to burn again, Hotch stopped to look down at Emily.

"You did?"

"Yeah," she smiled softly, "do you want me to tell you what else I dreamt tonight?"

"Yes," Hotch hugged Emily to his chest as he blinked away the new tears . . . the happy tears . . . starting to pool.

"I'd like that very much."

* * *

_A/N 2: So if you read the first version of this story you know that that this scene ends on the point where Hotch begins to weep. But obviously I decided to carry that moment forward on the redo, and I did that because now that I've written their relationship 'from the beginning' I could see exactly how Emily would have handled that situation. She would have been all over it! :) And even if she couldn't take the dark thoughts from his mind, she could share a little of the light from her own. _

_I think I'm now back to blueprint with this fic. So after I get a couple other stories updated, I'll circle back around here and take a look at what I'd put up next originally. If it looks good then we'll be back what we've had this last week, regular postings! _


	12. Shopping With The Hotchner Boys

**Author's Note:** Yes, another update here. And yes, I know it's two days later than expected Twiterati :) But come on, this baby's practically on cruise control! And unlike all of the drama and angst of the last two chapters, this one is coated in fluff. Why? Because Jack is back!

For those of you unfamiliar with the first Hours posting, I can tell you that he will appear with much more regularity here than he did in Girl. Also, for the "Repeaters" (my new term for those who read the first version, yes, oh so clever!) this chapter will look familiar to you. But I puffed it up a bit.

And reminder, we've officially moved into the new year.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: ffsienna27**__ – More randomness._

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_Early January: Saturday Afternoon_

**Shopping with the Hotchner Boys**

Hotch subtly twisted his wrist as he tipped his head down slightly to look at his watch.

He was attempting to surreptitiously check the time without Emily noticing. But not unsurprisingly . . . given his girl's first rate surveillance skills . . . his attempt at _stealthiness,_ failed pretty spectacularly.

And when he looked back up to see the eyebrow going up as her jaw twitched . . . he wasn't sure if she'd learned that from him, but it was quite disturbing . . . he quickly flashed her half a dimple.

'_Love you.' _

The words were mouthed rather than spoken aloud . . . that would have been overkill. Still though, he got a dramatic eye roll for his efforts at sucking up in the middle of a Target shopping trip. Then Emily grabbed the scruff of his shirt to tug him down into a kiss.

"That was pathetic," was the mumble as she pulled away.

And his lips twitched slightly as he slipped his arm around her waist to tug her back against his chest.

"Pathetic, huh? Well, I'll have you know that there are _fives_ of women that would kill to be with me," he whispered in her ear. To which she snorted back, "fives huh," she patted his hand, "well, just let me know when you get to _'tens'_ and perhaps I'll start to get worried about the competition."

A full dimple slipped out at her response . . . Emily could volley back anything. Then the humor faded a bit as he rested his chin on her shoulder to look down at his son in front of them . . . he was picking out a toothbrush . . . she was just so damn stubborn sometimes.

And this would be one of those times.

It's not that he was actually _annoyed_ about the afternoon that they'd spent shopping . . . though admittedly that was not generally his favorite activity, it fell somewhere above autopsies and below meetings with Strauss . . . it was more that he was concerned that Emily was going to overexert herself.

Correction . . . he tightened his hold on her waist . . . she _had_ overexerted herself.

They'd been out for two hours now and he'd noticed over the last twenty minutes that her shoulder had started bumping into his as they walked the aisles of the store.

She was clearly getting tired.

But she'd already made it quite clear that they weren't leaving the store yet. Not until Jack was all stocked up on items to leave at the condo.

That's why they'd been out all afternoon.

She'd woken up that morning insistent that they go shopping for Jack. And when he tried to point out that Jack already had all of the basics from his apartment, she'd shaken her head and said it wasn't the same. That that was his place, and the condo had been _her_ place. And even though Jack had been coming there for months, now she wanted it to be _their_ place. And did that make sense to him.

As with all of Emily's twisty turns in logic, it had taken him a second to catch up with her . . . but then he'd understood. It was a sweet and loving gesture, from his sweet and loving girl. She was building their new family . . . one little Scooby Doo fork and Superman dinner plate at a time. And so he'd smiled and said of course, whatever she wanted.

Still though . . . his brow furrowed slightly as she hid another yawn in her arm . . . he just wished that she hadn't been so insistent about doing _everything _today. But if he was honest with himself . . . though it was a painful topic . . . he knew that was being so stubborn because she worried that she wouldn't be able to do it later.

That she'd be too sick.

So for that reason, he knew that there was no point in pushing the issue. Of course he'd tried once . . . it was impossible to curb his protective instincts . . . but she'd brushed him off. Said it was one afternoon, she'd be fine. And that was the end of that. So to mention it again . . . even though she was now slumping against his chest . . . would just cause a needless . . . pointless . . . disagreement.

And life was too short for those.

So with a sigh he resigned himself to feigning patience as Jack continued to play supermarket sweep, the extended Target edition.

But then Emily either took pity on him . . . or started to worry about her own stamina . . . as she suddenly clapped her hands together to gently hurry Jack along.

"Okay sweetie, which one are we getting, Buzz or Woody?"

Hotch could have kissed her.

/*/*/*/*/

Thirty-five minutes later their little group had relocated to the children's furniture section of the store. Hotch's arm was again wrapped around Emily's waist, but this time she was the one that had initiated the gesture. They had a nearly full cartload of purchases.

This was inclusive of a whole new SpongeBob themed bathroom (rug, toothbrush holder, soap dispenser and shower curtain), three new Sesame Street bath toys, a new "motorized" submarine, the _big_ bottle of Bert & Ernie Bubble Bath, the _small_ bottle of Mr. Bubble bubble bath, a fire truck poster for one wall of Jack's room, a Donkey/Shrek poster for the other, an assortment of Bugs Bunny dinnerware items, inclusive of two plastic cups, a set of children's cutlery and matching place mat. And that was all in addition to the Scooby Doo and Superman sets which had been purchased for "special occasions." Yes, Emily spoiled Jack rotten, and yes, he probably needed to start reining her in a bit.

But that of course was a conversation for another day.

All they needed to do now was finish picking out the bed linens, and their (Emily's) shopping list would be complete. They'd done well with the sheets . . . as evidenced by the poster choice, Shrek was always in fashion . . . but then they'd hit a snag with the comforter.

Jack . . . for some reason locked in his little four year old brain . . . was adamantly opposed to Shrek, Donkey and Fiona setting up camp on TOP of his bed. Their present was apparently designated for undercover purposes only. And the few others options that Hotch had tried to helpfully suggest, had been completely shot down with a vehement headshake and an "uh, uh daddy," so eventually Daddy had just shut up.

His boy could not be rushed.

Of course Emily had a _perfectly_ good plain blue comforter on the bed now. It served the dual purposes of both keeping his son warm, and his new Shrek sheets safely under wraps, but Emily didn't want to leave the store until Jack had found a new comforter that he'd picked out himself. To quote, "Aaron if that means a few extra minutes of our lives spent in this store, then so be it."

At least that had been her attitude sixteen minutes ago. But then nine minutes ago she'd agreed that perhaps they might need to put a pin in this one.

Jack just couldn't make up his mind.

Still though, Emily was insistent that they wait until five o'clock before they threw in the towel. Hotch . . . this time not at all subtly . . . checked his watch.

They had six more minutes to go.

So with half of his brain shifting focus to what he was going to cook for diner . . . he was thinking baked ziti . . . the other half stared sightlessly at the dizzying display of cartoon characters in front of them. He was trying to mentally _will_ his son to make a decision. Because even if she had agreed to leave at five o'clock, Hotch knew that Emily was going to be disappointed if they hadn't crossed off all of the items on her list.

And he did so hate to see her disappointed.

But then suddenly Jack started to bounce up and down on his little black Addidas, and Hotch let out a sigh of relief. It appeared that they had hit pay dirt.

Thank God!

"That one! That's the bestest one!" Jack exclaimed as he pointed to a comforter set two shelves above him. "Daddy look, you can see Squidward! And he's making faces like you do!"

"The BEST one, honey, not bestest," Emily gently corrected as she moved out of Hotch's arms to take their last purchase of the day off the shelf.

As she placed it in their now overflowing cart . . . in addition to Jack's stuff she'd picked up a few items herself . . . Emily was biting her lip to keep from snickering at the expression on Hotch's face.

For a moment there had been that subdued Hotch look of relief that they were finally done shopping. But then something unexpected had happened.

His son had compared him to a morose cephalopod.

It had taken a second, but when she'd turned back with the package in her hand, she'd seen the shift in his expression. The 'what the hell?' look that would pop onto anybody's face after a comparison like that.

It was understandable . . . funny . . . but understandable.

But Hotch was an overachiever . . . and sometimes that was a bit of burden. Because Emily could see that in this instance, as he stood there, he was giving the morose cephalopod comment more than the passing consideration that most people would.

Or should.

"Emily," Hotch's brow wrinkled as his gaze shifted from his son to his girlfriend, "you don't think that I look like Squidward, do you?"

Yes, he realized that sounded as stupid aloud as it had in his head.

"Well, uh," Emily scrunched her face up pensively as she started pushing the cart towards the registers, "huh."

God . . . she sent up a note of gratitude . . . thank you for this moment. And now . . . her lip quirked up . . . how best to torture the love of her life? Because really, if he was actually going to give this serious thought, rather than dismiss it as the superficially offhand remark of a small child . . . and she knew how his mind worked, he was doing _exactly_ that . . . then she was going to enjoy yanking his chain.

Love of her life or not, the man had brought this on himself.

When Emily trailed off without actually saying anything, Hotch lightly bumped her in the side with his elbow.

"Excuse me Agent Prentiss, that wasn't actually a sentence."

"I know that, _sir_," Emily responded formally, "I was considering my response."

Boy was she ever. Then she shot him a look, "really you of all people should understand the importance of a fully articulated report when asked for a consult. Now the question is, do you _look_ like Squidward? So I'd have start with the obvious, clearly you don't have the follicular issues that he has. Also, you do have better fashion sense. I really can't see you going to the office without pants," she shot him a smirk, "not that I'd object if you wanted to give it a whirl."

Hotch stifled a groan. Two words into Emily's "consultation" he'd seen how this conversation was going to shape up for him.

Badly.

Not that he thought that his immediate capitulation would be sufficient to prevent him from having to hear the end of whatever she had planned to say. Oh no . . . he restrained an eye roll as they sidestepped another family in front of them . . . he was on this train until it made a full and complete stop at the station.

Case in point, Emily had just moved on to "similarities."

". . . be noted that you do both wear name tags at work. So there's that commonality." Then she smirked playfully, "plus you do occasionally have those OCTOPUS hands."

Seeing the wince of pain on his face . . . a sign that he was grinding his teeth . . . Emily zeroed in for the kill.

"And then of course," she shot him a pointed look, "there's the obvious propensity to approach many tasks great and small, with grim faced determination. And that might have possibly, _maybe_, been your son's superficial four year old observation about your facial expressions."

And after giving him a moment to digest _that _. . . she could hear the little grunt of acknowledgment . . . she smiled sweetly.

"But in conclusion," she leaned up to smack a kiss on his cheek, "no, I do not think that you _look_ like Squidward."

"Thank you sweetheart," Hotch responded drily.

"Anytime honey."

And then their eyes locked . . . Hotch's rolled . . . and she burst out laughing.

"You brought that on yourself."

After another grunt and mumble of "a simple 'no, Aaron' would have sufficed," Hotch sighed as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"I'll push the cart."

That was all she was getting. He refused to admit that she was right. She already knew that he knew that she was right . . . he could tell that from the grin on her face . . . so that was good enough.

He'd get her back later.

With a final snort at Hotch's defeat . . . always fun to win one on the road . . . Emily's gaze dropped down to the small boy walking in front of her.

His fingers were hooked into the little holes in the red cart.

The little prince munchkin . . . her eyes crinkled as she felt Hotch's hand on her back . . . that looked just like the big munchkin next to her. And she knew from the kiss and the possessive hand that she'd been forgiven her mockery, Emily looked up at Hotch. Then she raised her eyebrow slightly as tilted her head down to the little body in front of them. Hotch's lip quirked up as he gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

It was a question and answer technique honed over the past few years of take downs . . . but it still came in handy in domestic situations. And fortunately both were clear on the specific question and answer in this situation.

They had discussed the matter an hour ago as Jack sorted through bubble bath options.

"Hey," Emily raised her voice slightly, "Jack in the Box?"

This resulted in a giggle as Jack turned back to look up her over his shoulder.

"Yes, Miss Emily Femily!"

Hearing Jack's response . . . his boy could volley as well . . . Hotch's eyes crinkled in amusement.

Coming up with new nicknames for one another was an activity that these two held in high regard. And secretly . . . though he'd never say it aloud . . . Hotch found it adorable. His more practical, (i.e. official assessment), was that it helped to sharpen Jack's ability to think on his feet. And really . . . Hotch thought with not a little biased pride . . . his son was quite clever with the monikers he came up with.

Miss Em-anana Banana was Hotch's personal favorite.

Once Emily had Jack's attention she smiled as she reached down to scoop him up on her hip. She was tired so he felt a bit heavier than usual. But he was also warm and cuddly and looked just like his daddy, so she figured screw taking it easy.

Life was too short for that crap.

And as Jack looked at her with rapt attention, one small hand snaked around to play absentmindedly with the back of her ponytail.

She kissed his cheek.

"So," she brushed away the slight smudge of lip gloss, "Daddy just told me that you were _such _a good boy shopping today that we can stop and pick up ice cream to have for dessert tonight."

Jack _loved _ice cream.

And as expected, his face immediately lit up as his eyes snapped over her shoulder and up to his father's.

"Really, Daddy?"

At Hotch's nod and "sure can buddy," Jack yelled out an exuberantly ecstatic, "YAY ICE CREAM!" as he shimmied in Emily's arms while pumping both of his little fists in the air.

Emily immediately burst out laughing as she mimicked Jack's movements with her free arm.

"That's right hon," she said loudly, "YAY ice cream! Isn't that right, Daddy?" She asked Hotch with a curved lip and a raised eyebrow.

Hotch looked down at the two most important people on the planet . . . both wearing ridiculously wide matching grins . . . and though he knew that Emily was in part just busting his balls, he still accepted his fate.

He had to do it too.

After all . . . he slowly exhaled . . . keeping them happy was his primary avocation. No matter how publically humiliating it was.

So after he'd given a quick look around to make sure that nobody he knew was in the vicinity . . . no . . . he robotically mimed their fist shakes with a lackluster, "yaaaay, ice cream."

It wasn't exactly his most convincing display of enthusiasm, but it still sent Jack and Emily into a not-unexpected fit of laughter . . . so that was good enough for him. And then Jack giggled out a "Daddy, you're silly!" and Hotch gave him a little smile as he mussed up his hair.

"I bet there aren't too many people at Daddy's work that would agree with you on that one bud," he huffed as they arrived at the front of the store.

Emily gave her own smirk of agreement at Hotch's assessment as she placed Jack back down to the shiny off-white floor.

He was getting a little too heavy to keep carrying.

Then she stooped down to give Jack a gentle . . . but firm . . . instruction that he needed to now hold tightly to her hand.

Not that she was planning on loosening her grip on _him_, but little children . . . when excited by something shiny in the distance . . . sometimes tried to wriggle away. Not that Jack would ordinarily do that in public, but Emily still wanted to have her bases covered. They had just reached the registers and there was a crowd of people around them now.

All right by the doors.

Crowded exits always made her a little antsy when Jack was around. So once she was sure that the littlest Hotchner was firmly in her grasp . . . and he'd responded with a dutiful "K Miss Emily" . . . her stress levels lightened a bit. And with it her thoughts moved back around to the bigger Hotchner at her side.

That and their plans for the evening post dinner and ice cream.

So she leaned up on her tiptoes to make sure that her words to him were well out of the range of Jack's hearing. Then with a saucy grin she leaned in to tickle Hotch's ear with her breath.

"Hey Mr. Tentacles," she murmured, "I think that while you make dinner I make just take a little nap," she patted his stomach, "so then after Jack goes to bed I'll be up for playing with that big clarinet of yours."

Just because she was taking another Squidward shot, didn't mean that she wasn't also looking to have some fun tonight.

Life was also much too short not have sex with Hotch as _much_ as possible!

At Emily's . . . not at all subtle . . . proposition, Hotch's lips began to twitch. And when his gaze shifted down to see her wink at him and he tried . . . unsuccessfully . . . to hide his smirk behind his wrist.

Finally he just gave up as he shook his head and leaned down to give her a kiss. And as they settled into a line he sighed.

Okay . . . he slipped his arm around her waist and tucked her against his side . . . sometimes it was good to be Squidward.

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_A/N 2: Not too much of a deviation from the original post, yet somehow it's much longer. Funny how that goes._

_I think from here on out I'll be sticking to the original story blueprint. I may still add in a new chapter here or there if something comes to me, but do feel free to request a scene if you want one. I do my best to oblige when I can. I know there is "interest" :) in reading live the whole 'team finds out Emily's sick,' and that was already written the first time around, so it will definitely be turning up again. Beyond that, there is more Jack, and a bit of Haley. The only other new thing I was going to try to add was a bit more JJ and maybe a bit more of Em's folks. _

_Thanks as always for the feedback on this one (and all the others) I do try to get back to people individually but sometimes there's just a lot of juggling :)_

_And if you're interested (in general and in voting) this story was just nominated for "Best Drama" and "Best Overall Fic." So again, thanks so much for that :) If you do want to vote, the ballot (I think) goes up this weekend on this page: _

_.net/u/2507361/Profilers_Choice_CM_Awards_

_Also, I put up the Halloween prompts yesterday. And I'm hoping for Horses and Chances updates this weekend. Keep a good thought!_


	13. Defensive Maneuvers & Earning Your

**Author's Note: ** It was short, and it was done, so here you go :)

This is later the same night of the Target trip. And see if you can guess what they're discussing, before Hotch explains what they're discussing :)

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_Early January: Saturday Night_

**Defensive Maneuvers & Earning Your Smoking Jacket**

Hotch sighed as he bent his arm to prop his head up on the pillow. Then he looked over at Emily lying next to him in bed.

"Emily," his brow wrinkled unpleasantly as he shook his head, "I really don't want to."

How was it possible that great sex was now taking such an unwelcome turn?

"Come on Aaron, pleeease . . ." Emily whined, as she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.

"No, sweetheart," Hotch came back again, "I don't . . ."

But the second denial of his girlfriend's request was cut off by her pouty, "for me," which she punctuated by dropping the sheet down to her waist.

Now he was trying to say no to the pout, the eyes, and . . . his own eyes dropped and locked . . . those fabulous breasts.

Damn it.

"All right," he sighed again as his gaze snapped back up to hers, "I'll do it."

"YAY!" Emily clapped as she leaned down to smack a sloppy kiss on him, "you're the best."

Boobs worked _every _time!

But of course the drawback of the boob misdirection . . . especially as she had just leaned back in . . . was that he was now trying to use them against her.

Those wonderful fingers were setting up camp again.

"Uh uh," she brushed them away while chastising, "play first and then," she smirked as his hand moved down to her thigh, "well, I guess play again later. So," she moved the wayward fingers back to their owner as she inched back slightly to sit cross legged next to him, "stop trying to distract me. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back to that."

Thank God she'd taken that nap, because there had definitely been much 'clarinet playing' that evening. But now . . . she flashed Hotch a quick grin which he returned with an amused eye roll . . . it was time for a new activity. Well, an old activity really. One that went back to the earliest days of their relationship.

And that was . . . she squeezed his hand . . . Hotch trivia!

YAY!

"Okay," she curled her fingers back as she straightened up. Time to be serious. "First one. _The Sure Thing_ or _Better Off Dead_?"

Starting off with a meatball. And sure enough, he immediately shot back without hesitation.

"_Sure Thing_."

She nodded in approval.

"I concur. All right, _Stand By Me_ or _Sixteen Candles_?"

"_Stand By Me_."

"Again, I concur. LOVE that movie. Kiefer Sutherland, though evil, was gorgeous."

Ignoring the look Hotch gave her . . . his ego could take it . . . she scrubbed her hand across her chin.

"Next one . . . next one . . ." her brow furrowed, "God, how is it so hard to think of, OH!" a good one popped into her head, "I know! _The Grifters_ or _Bob Roberts_?"

"Hmm," Hotch bit the inside of his cheek, "that's kind of a toss-up, but I think I'm going to have to go with _The Grifters_."

"Yeah," Emily nodded, "that was technically a trick question. There was no wrong answer."

One side of Hotch's mouth quirked up . . . only in Emily's mind could there be a 'wrong answer' to any of these questions. But of course in her mind there was _always_ a right or wrong answer.

He'd learned that last summer.

Which was why . . . he bit back a sigh as Emily started wracking her brain again . . . he still couldn't believe that he'd even gotten himself into this situation tonight. Not that he didn't _enjoy_ her little trivia games, he did. But not generally when they were both naked.

When they were naked there were much better games to be played!

But ten minutes ago . . . shortly after they'd finished making love . . . Emily had started talking about a John Cusack movie coming out on video that she wanted to see. Then one thing led to another . . . as Emily would say, "yada yada" . . . and somehow HE had made the _ridiculous_ mistake of letting it slip that he'd seen every movie John Cusack had ever made.

Damn post coitus idiocy.

Of course Emily's face had lit up like it was Christmas morning again . . . this was new trivia and God did she LOVE trivia . . . so two seconds later she was begging him to play what she'd immediately dubbed, "John Cusack: The Home Game."

As they both knew he would . . . he had resisted. But as they also both knew he would, he'd caved within minutes. His resistance was always futile. Really he was a goner long before she'd pouted and dropped the sheet. The bottom-line was, she was excited about something and there was no way that he could disappoint her when she was excited about _anything_.

Hmm . . . he thought back to the afternoon with his son at Target . . . his Pavlovian response to Emily seemed to be a bit echoey of _her_ Pavlovian response to Jack.

Neither could tolerate there being even a moment's unhappiness for the other person.

And though Hotch knew that was something that he might need to give some further introspection at a later date, given Emily's current health concerns, he dismissed it outright for the foreseeable future. Because right now basically whatever she wanted . . . his eyes crinkled slightly as he refocused on her pretty face . . . if it was within his power to give it to her, she was getting it.

And he was okay with that.

"_Grosse Pointe Blank_ or _Con Air_?"

It took him a split second to realize that she'd come up with another one, but it was a no brainer so he was still able to bounce back immediately.

"_Grosse Pointe Blank_."

Hands down, no contest. However . . . a thought occurred to him and he raised his arm to point at Emily.

"Though it is cinematically slightly inferior to _Grosse Pointe Blank_, did you know that in fact _Con Air_ _also_ stars Nicolas Cage?"

Cusack and Cage, that was a one two punch right there!

Not one to allow any of her games to be usurped by another . . . even if the other was the gorgeously naked man in front of her . . . Emily nodded as she flapped her hand dismissively.

"Yes, yes, I know. Nicolas Cage, the greatest living actor of our generation."

Seeing the immediate darkening of Hotch's brow . . . Cage was always a topic of some sensitivity . . . Emily realized that she might have been a little _too _dismissive. After all just because Hotch was well, The Terminator, he was still entitled to have the same (goofy) obsessions and idol crushes as the next person. So she quickly made amends with a pout.

"I'm sorry honey," she said contritely as she leaned over to rub his chest, "I didn't mean to be rude. You know that I loved Cage in _Raising Arizona_, but he's just not the topic of tonight's discussion." Then she smiled brightly, "we can do him next time!"

Hotch rolled his eyes at the offer . . . as though this game would become a _regular_ bedtime occurrence.

He'd rather have Garcia pick out his outfits for a week.

Still though . . . he bit back a sigh . . . she was trying to make amends for her totally uncalled for Cage shot, so he tipped his head.

Apology accepted.

Seeing that Hotch's feathers/eyebrow had been properly smoothed out, Emily shifted gears back to her own game. And as she focused in on the answer to his last question, she became very excited.

"_Grosse Pointe Blank_ is on my top ten list! Remember the kickboxing? I _love_ kickboxing," she shot him a saucy wink, "It's so very hot."

Hotch raised an eyebrow . . . Emily was aware that he himself held multiple belts in this defensive art.

"So now it comes out," he shook his head in exasperation as he reached over to grasp her hip, "you only fell in love with me for my kickboxing."

"It's true," Emily responded with a sad face as she pushed Hotch over and onto his back again, "I'm sorry that you had to find out this way."

Yes, there were about ten million more films in the John Cusack collection. But . . . Hotch pulled her down to straddle his chest . . . there were about ten million other _more_ fun things to do with Hotch right now.

She didn't take that nap just to chit chat all evening!

Hotch's brow quirked up in amusement as his right hand began stroking along Emily's bare thigh.

"So, Agent Prentiss," his lips twitched, "now that we've established that you only fell in love me because of my ability to break a man's face with an unsheathed foot," his hand slid a little further up her leg, "are there any particular reasons why you _stay_ with me."

Emily smiled smugly as she leaned over to trace the muscles on his chest. "I can think of a few reasons."

"Such as?"

Emily tipped her head to look up at the ceiling.

"Oh geez Hotch," her hair fell back as she gave an exaggerated sigh, "I'd really have to think about it."

Of course she really wouldn't have to think _that_ hard.

Seeing the obvious challenge being presented to him . . . Emily's version of 'prove yourself big man' . . . Hotch continued his gentle activities on the right side as his other hand swiftly moved up for a sneak attack from the left.

"Like _that_ for instance?" He asked with a smirk.

Emily's eyes twinkled as Hotch's skilled fingers settled into their now well practiced routine.

He knew exactly what she liked.

Still though . . . her head tilted slightly as she pretended to give his question a bit of thought . . . best not to give in too quickly.

God forbid he thinks he's WON the game this early on!

"Nooo," her brow furrowed slightly, "not that. That engenders more a sense of 'companionship and cordiality'."

Hotch snorted . . . companionship and cordiality his ass. Still though . . . he flicked his right wrist ever so slightly . . . he was playing to win here.

"How about _that_?"

She loved that! He KNEW that she loved that! And even now he could see her breath hitch for just a second before she got it under control again. Then she tipped her head to give him a sweet smile.

"_That's_ very nice, but still no," she shook her head slowly, "it's not one of the reasons I stay with you."

Hotch narrowed his gaze . . . her control was impressive this evening. Usually either one of those moves would have immediately declared him the winner in this little skirmish.

But . . . he shifted her body slightly . . . he always had the ace. And the ace never failed. So he slid the hand still resting on her left thigh down and over her curves, dipping to a spot a few millimeters south of that tiny little mole that was now his alone to see.

And as his fingers went to work, Emily's teeth sunk into her lip and her eyes fell shut.

"Good job Sherlock," she gasped, "you finally got one."

He smirked . . . and the ace wins again. And once he'd given the ace another few victory laps around the winner's circle . . . and Emily had caught her breath . . . he flipped them over so she was lying beneath him. As she started to giggle, he waggled his eyebrows.

"Time for round two!"

* * *

_A/N: Lightning Round, the NC-17 version :) Though that was really more of a PG-13 scene. And keep in mind that I originally wrote this chapter/story LONG before I wrote any of the actual Lightning Round scenes in Girl, so basically this bit of their back and forth exchange was the trailblazer in that medium of their banter._

_From the original Hours posting, and it amused me so I'm leaving it here, "reviews, though not as fine as John Cusack or Thomas Gibson, are still very fine things :)"_


	14. Observations: Big Mama & Chocolate Bear

**Author's Note:** Physical ailment knocked my posting/writing schedule out of whack for the last few days, so we're not quite where I'd wanted to be right now for updates. But, such is life. We shall carry on!

So this is the first of a few chapters (not consecutive) all relating to the team's observations of Emily and Hotch's recent changes in behavior. Basically how they've been acting since they moved in together and she got sick. Not that anybody else is aware of either of those facts, but you have to figure that those developments are going to begin to subtly bleed into their general interactions with one another.

And I know that many of you are waiting for the big 'team reveal' of H/P's relationship and her illness . . . this chapter is not it :) Hopefully you will enjoy it anyway.

On original post this chapter was actually two very small ones, but I strung them together because you guys would have shot me if I had put up 300 words :) It's now a 'husky' 4000!

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

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* * *

_**Observations: Big Mama & Chocolate Bear**_

_Early January: Wednesday_

_**Big Mama's Big News**_

Garcia bounded into her office with a huge smile on her face.

This was the BEST day of her LIFE!

Okay . . . she dialed down the hyperbole slightly . . . maybe not the best day of her LIFE, but certainly in the top ten.

Maybe even in the top five.

And that was because today . . . she dropped into her chair and spun around . . . in a most unexpected moment of discovery, she'd gotten herself PROOF that Hotch and Em . . . two of her favorite little piglets . . . were FINALLY playing in the same pen! And that was a FANTASTIC inter-team relationship development! Really, they were just so CUTE together! For that reason alone . . . aesthetics . . . Garcia had been silently (because everybody else would have thought that she was NUTS) rooting for them to couple up since Hotch's divorce. And now it looked like she might actually be getting her wish.

Because she'd just caught them coming into work . . . wait for it . . . TOGETHER!

Actually . . . she corrected herself . . . this was the THIRD time that she'd caught them coming in to work together, but the earlier elevator run-ins didn't really count. They weren't actually "doing" anything then. Not like today. Though . . . Garcia's brow wrinkled slightly as she thought back . . . on the second occasion she _might_ have seen the Boss Man rubbing Em's back.

But she wasn't positive about that one though.

It's not that her eyes were that bad . . . though were glasses were a bit fogged from the cold . . . it was really just more that it didn't seem like a very Hotch thing to do.

Well . . . Garcia tipped her head as she considered the statement . . . maybe it _was_ a very Hotch thing to do. After all she didn't actually _know _how Hotch behaved in his personal life.

And back rubbing would most definitely be personal life behavior.

But all Garcia knew was work life . . . how Hotch behaved when he was within the umpteenth number of walls of the FBI Academy. And within those walls he'd always only ever been uberly professional SSA Hotchner.

But all that changed today.

Because today . . . she started getting excited again . . . she'd definitely caught a glimpse of the off duty, personal life Hotch. And to her surprise he was a HAND HOLDER! That just didn't seem like him at all . . . at least not the HIM that she knew. But nonetheless, that's what she'd seen, Hotch and Emily holding hands when the elevator doors had opened on her parking garage level.

It was, in a word . . . ADORABLE!

Of course . . . she huffed to herself . . . they'd immediately let go when they'd seen her. But whatever, she'd seen what she'd seen and all of their quick little super agent reflexes couldn't make her UNsee the two sets of fingers clearly intertwined in a not at all professional manner.

But of course wishing to be polite . . . and not wanting to ruin that moment of complete awesomeness, she'd been dying for a good piece of gossip for months(!) . . . as she stepped onboard the little car, Penelope had pretended not to take note of the digital entanglement.

Or the notable reddening of their respective cheeks.

In fact to set them at ease, she'd even gone the extra mile and tipped her head to greet them with a "good morning, Sir" . . . sly head swivel . . . "good morning Emily," but that turned out to be totally a lost effort. It was clear that they were not in the mood to engage, so she only got back a couple of murmured . . . perfunctory . . . hellos. But she let that go. Really the hand holding was enough to totally make her day.

But then her day got even BETTER!

Because when she stepped forward to re_-_press the button for their floor . . . because that's what you're supposed to do, press an already lit button to pretend like you'll get there faster . . . out of the corner of her eye she saw Em making some really weird hand gestures.

Like _really_ weird gestures.

Gestures that could not be ignored.

So to get a better look at what was going on _literally_ behind her back, Penelope had feigned twisting around to check the line of her stockings. Of course that was just a ruse so she that could get a better look at what in goddess's name the two of them were doing back there.

And that's when she'd seen Hotch rubbing LIPSTICK off of his cheek! And THAT was the moment that she'd finally she had _CONCRETE_ proof of, well . . . something. Were they dating? Just sleeping together?

Secretly married?

Okay . . . Penelope's brow wrinkled as the myriad of relationship possibilities flashed through her mind . . . she didn't quite know what it was that they were doing. But she did know that it was big.

Lipstick on the cheek, big!

But now that she'd retreated back to her office, Garcia wasn't quite sure what to do next. Yes, she REALLY wanted to know exactly why the two of them were swapping lipstick down in the parking garage. But she also knew . . . or at least her pesky little conscience did anyway . . . that _whatever _Hotch and Emily were doing during their personal time . . . whatever the reason for that pigmental transfer . . . was perhaps not really any of her beeswax.

It was their beeswax.

And that meant that maybe . . . Pen's nose wrinkled distastefully as her good mood started to slip . . . she should just go back to work now and forget that she'd seen anything.

Crap.

That was a depressing thought . . . one that Garcia really didn't feel like fully embracing. So her brain began looking for loopholes.

And then . . . her eyes lit up . . . it found one.

Sorta.

The gossipy little voice in her head reminded her that Hotch was their leader . . . king if you will. And you might even say . . . if you were looking to stretch the truth a _teensy_ tiny bit . . . that Emily was their matriarch. The queen. So . . . she got on a roll . . . Hotch and Emily were the king and queen of the unit!

And as such their royal interactions were TOTALLY Penelope's business!

Okay . . . Garcia rolled her eyes in disgust while simultaneously flinging a troll pen across the desk . . . that was weak. Very weak.

Used teabag weak.

But really though . . . she started floating back down to the rational plane of thinking . . . Hotch and Emily _were_ family. Mom and sister respectively.

NOT king and queen.

_So lame Pen._

Anyway . . . she refocused . . . if she looked at it like that, it meant that by poking around in their off duty activities, she was really just taking an interest in familial developments. That's all.

Familial developments.

All right yes, she was still maybe being a smidge nosy but well . . . she nodded to herself . . . she was okay with that. There were worse things to be in life than just a smidge nosy. And really bottom line, she just wanted to know if they were together, because she just wanted to know if they were happy.

They deserved that. They deserved to be happy

So with that point finally settled with her annoying conscience . . . her nosiness had the best of intentions . . . Garcia rolled her chair over to grab the phone off the cradle.

Now that she was looking for proof of 'level of attachment' of this new . . . suspected . . . personal relationship between two of the most private people that she knew, there was only one man for the job.

Derek Morgan.

So after she'd punched in his extension, Garcia leaned back in her chair listening to the phone ring.

. . . once . . . twice . . .

"Hey Baby Girl."

She grinned.

"Breaker, breaker Chocolate Bear this is Big Mama on the line. Come back."

Whenever possible, she tried to start Derek's day off with a laugh . . . her eyes crinkled as she heard him snort . . . because he didn't do nearly enough of that when he was working.

None of them did.

"Good morning Big Mama," Derek chuckled while wiping off the coffee droplets he'd just snorted onto his shirt, "and can I do for you on this fine winter's day?"

With a greeting like that, he was sure that she was up to something.

"Oh Chocolate Bear," Penelope tapped her pen on the desk, "do I have an assignment for you."

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

_**On Assignment for Big Mama**_

Derek looked up . . . with a sly sideways glance . . . to follow his boss as he made a detour over to Emily's unoccupied desk. Then he watched Hotch slow his pace to place a sandwich . . . it appeared to be turkey . . . and a bottle of diet ginger ale on the empty desk blotter. And then . . . without a word to Morgan or Reid . . . and still carrying his own lunch . . . Hotch continued up the steps to his office.

He looked to be in a hurry.

As the door slammed shut, Derek's brow rose up . . . hmmm, a healthy lunch delivery.

Interesting.

Though Derek was WELL aware of how close a friendship Hotch and Emily had developed over the summer . . . Hotch had nearly beaten him _senseless_ for hurting Emily's feelings over that ridiculous late invite back in August . . . he still wasn't quite sure just _how _involved the two of them were as of this late date.

Basically he didn't know whether or not they were doing it yet.

It was a point that Derek had been a bit curious about for a while now. Other people's sex lives . . . or lack thereof (talking about YOU Spencer) . . . always interested him. But he hadn't actually thought to _do_ anything about this particular bit of curiosity, until today. Not until Garcia had called and asked him to figure out exactly, quote, "how far things had progressed between Smurfette and Papa Smurf."

It was an analogy that slightly disturbed Derek . . . Smurfette & Papa Smurf getting it on sounded a bit incestuous if you asked him . . . until Garcia assured him that contrary to popular belief, there was no familial connection between the two Smurfs. Then she started going on about Gargamel and some spell and Derek had to hang up the phone.

God knows that he loved Baby Girl to DEATH, but sometimes seriously, the woman seemed to forget that he had a working penis. Regardless though, by the time he'd hung up in with a huff, he'd already been given his orders.

Orders that . . . for once . . . he'd actually been _agreeable_ to following.

This was unlike last week when Garcia had called and asked him to go down to the Starbucks on the corner and yell at the barista for raising a "snotty eyebrow when I asked for double whip and three cherries."

The girl had lost her damn mind.

So last week's request was a big "negatory big Mama," but this one Derek actually thought was kind of fun. With them on the bench things were pretty dead so a little 'covert' office snooping should liven things up.

It also a way to keep his surveillance skills sharp.

And he figured basic surveillance really was the way to go. Because though Derek had known for some time now that Hotch and Emily had fallen pretty hard for each other . . . he'd figured that one out a few months ago . . . he really knew no more about the _true_ nature of their relationship than Garcia did.

Though he had to admit, Baby Girl's tales of suspected hand holding/lipstick pantomime did lend credence to the theory that they had finally gotten their shit together. Granted Emily was affectionate with everyone that she cared about, so just because she and Hotch had been holding hands . . . the lipstick was inclusive, Garcia couldn't verify just how close to the mouth the smear had been . . . that didn't necessary mean that they were 'coupled up.'

Maybe Em's touchy feely'ness was just rubbing off on Hotch?

Eh . . . Derek wrinkled his nose . . . maybe not. At least not in the office.

Anyway, thinking about it logically, it did seem more likely that the whole Christmas/New Year's yuletide togetherness crap would have been the perfect time for Hotch . . . if he was so inclined, and why the hell wouldn't he be . . . to finally make a move there.

Though as far as Derek Morgan was concerned . . . Derek being a man who didn't believe in wasting any time when it came to the ladies . . . a Christmas/New Year's consummation STILL would have been a couple months too late. Because he'd figured out way back in NOVEMBER that Hotch and Emily's close friendship . . . a friendship which they had not made ANY effort to hide . . . had begun to morph into something more substantive.

Something more serious.

Still though, based on a few specific observations, Derek had been fairly positive that as of that point in time . . . again, November . . . that the two of them were not sleeping together. Or even, as far as he could see, genuinely romantically involved.

Some people might have said that was just guesswork on his part . . . that he didn't actually _know_ what the hell Hotch and Em were doing behind closed doors . . . but really it was a fairly scientific deduction based on what he liked to call, 'Profiler's Instinct.'

Profiler's Instinct was an entity that had served him well over the years.

But lately Profiler's Instinct hadn't been offering Morgan diddly _squat_, on figuring out what was up with those two. Though they didn't _outwardly_ seem to be interacting together any differently on the job, still . . . Derek's brow lifted slightly as he saw Em stepping through the glass doors . . . something had seemed different recently.

But he didn't know what.

And even for all of the coffee and lunch breaks that the two had taken together the last six or eight months . . . hundreds . . . Derek was hard pressed to come up with a previous lunch _delivery_.

So that was new.

And that meant that was _something_. Hence his interest. And now Derek was curious to see how Emily . . . who had had told him an hour ago that she had to run to HR to discuss some "follow-up" from her accident a few weeks ago . . . was going to react to the free lunch now sitting on her desk.

Getting her reaction would be a good opportunity to read just how well she and Hotch _were_ getting along lately.

So after a wave hello, he watched as Em tucked a manila envelope into her messenger bag . . . probably more stuff related to when she could come back to full time duty . . . before she began to pull out her chair. But then she stopped, looking down in confusion at the two items sitting on her desk that hadn't been sitting there when she left.

So Derek helpfully clued her in.

"Hotch came by a few minutes ago, he dropped them off."

"Oh," Emily responded softly as she glanced up at their boss' office with a little smile. And then she seemed to realize what she was doing.

Acting like a girl.

And her eyes snapped back to Derek's as she sobered and cleared her throat.

"Oh yeah," she nodded as she sat down, "that's right, he owed me lunch from last week."

Morgan tipped his head.

"Ah, well that was nice of him to pay up then."

Though Derek knew damn well there was more to it than that . . . no woman goes all googely eyed over a turkey sandwich that she's owed as basic lunch payback . . . he also figured that if he teased her about it at all that she'd just clam up.

So to that end he continued to play the straight man . . . though speaking just a little louder than necessary to try and throw Emily off track.

She had Profiler's Instinct too. And he didn't want her thinking for a second that he had any special interest at all in the origins of that turkey sandwich.

"PERSONALLY," with a dramatic clearing of his throat, Derek projected his voice loudly across the desk, "I'm _still_ waiting on Reid to give me back that twenty bucks he borrowed two WEEKS ago."

Subtle . . . no. Effective misdirection.

Oh YEAH!

"What was that Derek?" Spencer muttered back in distraction.

Though he was picking up on a faint tone in the inflection of Derek's words . . . one which was probably intended to make a point of some kind . . . Reid really wasn't paying him all that much attention.

Which was . . . a thought occurred to him . . . perhaps the reason _for_ the tone.

Well, whatever . . . Reid dismissed the thought as quickly as it came . . . really he had bigger issues in play at the moment. He was THIS close to perfecting his new magic book trick of balancing four paperclips vertically on top of one another. He'd almost had it a couple minutes ago . . . he was up to three . . . but then Hotch had walked through the bullpen. And knowing that Hotch was not generally a "fan" of his magic tricks . . . he'd mentioned this on repeated occasions, twice after the fire alarms had gone off . . . Spencer'd had to hide everything before he got yelled at.

Again.

Granted, Hotch had been somewhat more tolerant of his magical diversions the last few months . . . well, it at least seemed he was more likely to turn a blind eye provided there was no smoke or bandages involved . . . but still, Spencer still wasn't pushing his luck. The man had confiscated a half dozen of his best projects over the years.

One of these days he was hoping to get them back.

Noting Reid's complete obliviousness to the point being made, Derek rolled his eyes.

"Oh nothing man, don't you worry your pointy little head about it!"

"See," he raised his hands in disgust as he turned back to Emily, "nothing!"

Though Emily gave a slight chuckle at their antics . . . she usually did unless she was yelling at him to be nice to Spencer . . . Derek could see that she wasn't about to be drawn into a conversation. She seemed too distracted for that.

Distraction manifested in part by the twitching of her jaw and the nervous tapping of the fingers on her desk.

Hmmm . . . Derek's brow wrinkled slightly as he tried to read her mood . . . what's up with that?

But before he could think of another question . . . perhaps to ask her flat out if anything was bothering her, his little game was one thing, her ACTUAL personal happiness and his responsibilities in that regard when it came to being her friend, were something else entirely . . . he saw Emily's brow lift slightly as her gaze abruptly snapped back to her lunch.

Something had caught her eye.

And then . . . to Derek's surprise . . . she suddenly pulled out a small note that he hadn't previously noticed tucked into the wrapping paper of her sandwich. How had he missed that? Well, no matter. The note wasn't for him . . . it was for Emily. So now it was time to see how she reacted to it.

So he watched . . . rather blatantly, she wasn't paying him much attention . . . as she opened it up and began to read. First she smiled . . . and then her eyes filled with tears.

A second later she shot another look up to Hotch's closed door.

This time her eyes lingered.

When she looked back down to the note, Derek saw her blink the tears away . . . thank God! He didn't know what the hell he would have done if she'd started CRYING! But then it became clear that whatever it was that she'd just read . . . more to the point, whatever it was that Hotch had_ written_ . . . had completely transformed her mood. Now he could see that there was a little sparkle in her eyes . . . a straightening of her posture.

And she was biting her lip.

And then . . . and this was the final kicker as far as Derek was concerned . . . she carefully REfolded the note and placed it into her bag _before_ she even broke open her sandwich. That meant that she didn't want him . . . or Reid . . . picking up the piece of paper and reading it.

GOTCHA!

Oh yeah . . . Derek smirked with satisfaction as he finally turned his complete attention back to his own half eaten lunch . . . Big Mama's mission was totally accomplished.

'_They were definitely doing it!' _

* * *

_A/N 2: There you go, they're figuring stuff out. And if you want to know why they were kissing and holding hands on the elevator, and what it was that Hotch scribbled in the note, you will find out in the next chapter. Because on original post (and I mention this so you'll all know how invaluable having an awesome beta can be) after she read the draft, Arcadya wrote back one comment, "I want to know the origins of the turkey sandwich!" And hence, a chapter was born, "The Origins of The Turkey Sandwich." It's been majorly puffed up from the first posting, but it's actually all done to put up again. I actually JUST stripped it off the end here :) At first I was going to let it be the bookend but then I decided for punch, it still works best all by itself. But I MIGHT put it up tomorrow night. Otherwise I'll save it for the weekend. _

_And thanks for all of the tons of awesome feedback from everyone the last week! As always, MUCH, MUCH appreciated :)_

_And off topic, regular and Christmas prompts went up in the TV forum. Plus a cool new Rossi'centric bonus over in the author's forum. Links here:_

**Regular TV Prompts**: .net/topic/59537/54093946/1/

**Christmas**: .net/topic/59537/54077294/1/

**The Biography of Dave Rossi: The Man, The Myth…The Legend**: .net/topic/74474/54095998/1/


	15. The Origins Of The Turkey Sandwich

**Author's Note: ** Yes, ANOTHER one! The VERY next day! Don't get used to it :)

The post script to the last chapter. This is all Hotch, covering his viewpoint of the events previously conveyed by the team in the last chapter.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

* * *

**The Origins of the Turkey Sandwich**

Damn it . . . Hotch grumbled to himself . . . Garcia had caught them today.

Though this was an event that had actually occurred three hours _earlier_ in the day, this was the first moment that he'd had alone to actually consider the _implications_ of that unfortunate run in. He'd been going non-stop all morning, but at present he was all by himself . . . though in the semi-crowded Academy cafeteria . . . holding his lunch as he waited for Emily's special order to come out from the kitchen. It was a turkey, cheddar and avocado wrap.

One of her favorites.

Of course ordinarily they'd eat lunch together . . . these days he spent as much time as humanly possible with her . . . but unfortunately that wasn't a possibility today. Emily was down in HR discussing her flex time and leave options for when the day came where she was too sick to work a full schedule. It was a heartbreaking future to consider. But it was still one that needed to be addressed.

Ignoring the hard stuff didn't make it go away.

And though she should be returning from that meeting fairly shortly . . . and he wanted to find out what had happened . . . their schedules were going to cross. He had a conference call in fifteen, and then back to back to budget meetings for the new year.

He wouldn't see her for more than a wave hello until at least four o'clock.

And this was really the worst day to be separated from her for so long. She'd been _so_ nervous about this meeting. For one thing, it was the first time that she'd had told ANYONE that she was sick. And for another, even if those people in HR were sworn to confidentiality, for Emily it was still a terrible mixing of her two worlds. Her job had been her sanctuary. And now the cancer had just invaded it, as cleanly as it had her body.

It was one more setback.

And as much as he would have loved to have gone to the meeting with her simply for moral support, it would have been entirely inappropriate. He was just her chief, not her husband.

Not yet anyway.

But even if he _had_ been her husband on that exact date in time, he knew that he still couldn't have gone with her for a meeting like that. It was a professional discussion about her career options. And that was NOT an occasion in which to bring along your significant other.

Not if you still wanted to have a career when all was said and done.

But because of that meeting . . . of that additional, CONCRETE proof of her deteriorating health and how it was taking over her worlds . . . Emily had woken up in a terrible funk that day. So much so that he'd deviated from their morning routine to surprise her with a quickie after she'd gotten out of the shower.

She'd just looked so miserable combing her hair that he couldn't help himself.

So that had helped a little . . . okay, it had helped her a little, it had helped him a LOT . . . but it hadn't really fixed the overall situation. Though she'd been a bit better over breakfast, by the time they got to the car, she'd been physically . . . and metaphorically . . . curled in on herself again. She'd stared out the window for the entire commute. And he just couldn't let her start the work day that depressed . . . that defeated.

Which has what led to his little problem with Garcia.

Their elevator decorum had been a bit 'lax' today. Ordinarily their rule was hands . . . and lips . . . were to be kept to oneself once they were inside the Academy gate. But Emily had just looked so sad when they got out of the car, that rule one had gone right out the window.

As they started across the fairly deserted parking level . . . they deliberately picked floors the other team members didn't frequent . . . he'd reached over and taken her hand. Then he held it tight for the rest of the walk to the elevator. And though he knew that he was pushing his luck, the only person they saw was a maintenance man fixing a parking sign.

And he sure as hell didn't give a shit what they were doing.

And because of that . . . because they were still basically alone . . . Hotch decided to keep holding Emily's hand when they got to the elevator. And once she'd realized what he was doing . . . breaking the rules for her . . . she'd broken a rule for him.

She'd kissed him.

It was just a thank you, and it was just on the cheek . . . they certainly weren't 'making out' or anything, but right as she leaned back, the elevator doors had suddenly opened on the next level. And there was Garcia.

In all of her fluorescent glory.

It was an 'oh crap' moment if he'd ever had one.

And though he was pretty certain that Garcia had probably picked up on a vibe, Hotch didn't think that she was particularly suspicious at first. Emily had dropped his hand pretty quickly so he was kind of hoping that Penelope's gaze just hadn't dropped to that level before they'd separated. But then Emily had noticed the lipstick on his cheek.

_That's _where things went downhill.

She'd tried to covertly 'mime' that he needed to wipe off his face. But unfortunately miming makeup removal was NOT one of the hand signals they were taught in the Academy. So she'd made a slightly too grandiose gesture . . . it looked like she was acting out a scene from a carwash . . . and he knew that she'd most _definitely_ caught Garcia's eye.

Hell . . . he sighed . . . she would have caught Stevie _Wonder's_ eye.

And though he'd struggled to wipe off the smear of pigment on his cheek before Garcia turned back, he'd been too slow. She'd pretended to check her stockings . . . like he was falling for that one . . . as he'd tried to slide into just a straight 'rub hand across mouth,' gesture. But . . . for a change . . . the makeup wasn't on his mouth.

It was up higher on his cheek.

He totally missed it . . . or more to the point . . . he'd actually drawn attention to _it_.

To his face.

Something that Garcia hadn't really been looking directly at when she'd stepped onto the elevator. And he'd known this from her sharp intake of breath right before her back went ramrod straight. And then when she'd turn around twenty seconds later to say goodbye, her eyes had been sparkling. So there was no doubt.

She was onto them.

But . . . he slowly exhaled as he shot a glance over to the lunch counter to check on the sandwich . . . there was nothing really to be done about it. Yes, they were trying to keep their relationship under wraps for now, but he and Emily had known that the others would start catching on eventually. Really, they were together for twenty-four hours a DAY, so it was somewhat embarrassing for him as a supervisor to realize that NOBODY in his _behavioral analysis_ unit had figured that fact out yet!

God . . . he huffed in disgust . . . what was WRONG with them?

Suddenly realizing that he was getting a bit more worked up about that minor point than he'd intended . . . after all the goal here was to NOT get caught . . . Hotch pushed his somewhat misplaced aggravation at the team's piss poor observational skills aside. Really that wasn't anything to be focusing on right now, not when he had Emily to worry about.

He could bust their balls about it later.

And then for the next six months after that.

And seeing that Emily's wrapped lunch had just appeared, Hotch sighed in relief as he stepped forward to pick up the turkey wrap from the counter. It joined the roast beef on whole wheat already tucked in the crook of his arm. Then he went over to the cold case to get two diet ginger ales, and then a stop in the dessert area to grab a package of chocolate chip cookies. After that he stepped into another line.

This time to pay the cashier.

Fortunately there was only one person in front of him . . . it was just shy of twelve so he was beating the midday rush . . . so he was shoving his wallet back into his pocket less than a minute after he'd pulled it out. And though he needed to get back to his desk . . . that conference call was rapidly approaching . . . Hotch stopped again for a moment at one of the empty tables by the door. Once he'd put down his sandwiches and sodas . . . and tucked the cookie into his pocket . . . he pulled out his pen and notepad. Then he wrote a quick note to Emily.

_I promise sweetheart, everything will be okay. I love you. _

_Always, Aaron_

_P.S. I have cookies :)_

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he drew the little emoticon. He'd never done that before . . . it just wasn't 'him' . . . but he knew that it would make Emily happy. So after he'd ripped out the small piece of paper, he folded it in half and tucked it into the cellophane wrapper of her sandwich.

That should hopefully brighten her spirits until he could take her for coffee later.

And with that thought in mind, Hotch gathered up all of his purchases again.

Then he headed back to the BAU.

/*/*/*/*/*

As Hotch started to cut through the bullpen, from across the room he took note of Reid _again_ practicing his new paperclip trick. For a second he debated saying something when he walked by, but then opted to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Though Spencer might have thought that he hadn't noticed him fussing around with the paperclips . . . he had.

Six days ago.

And every work day since.

And though unlike day one when Spencer just kept knocking them into a metal heap . . . and then muttering, "oh man" . . . now he was actually starting to get pretty good at it. It was apparent that he could now balance three. But of course it would be funnier to wait until he had the trick down _pat_, before he scared the shit out of him.

Hotch made a mental note to do it the following Monday.

Now approaching the desks of his team . . . and having opted to ignore Reid who had just dropped a case file on his tiny paperclip mountain . . . Hotch had to restrain an eye roll at Derek. Special Agent Morgan seemed to be attempting . . . key word _attempting_ . . . to play eye spy today.

Thank GOD he'd never gone into the CIA.

'_Yeah Derek, I see you, NOT looking at me while I put down Emily's sandwich. Good job.'_

Without breaking stride, Hotch continued up the stairs shaking his head. He was making another mental note. This one was to send Morgan off for a surveillance refresher before the end of the next quarter.

That display was just an embarrassment . . . for both of them.

And with that . . . he slammed his door shut.

* * *

_A/N 2: So you see, Hotch sees all and knows all. That's why he's Hotch :)_

_This is probably the last back to back posting you'll get on the same story for a very, very, VERY long time. Please enjoy it for the miraculous event that it is :) Really though, I just decided I'd put it up to get it out of the folder. Now I can move on to one of the other half dozen things I want to post this month._

_And yes, I know Chances and the new Girl reboot, they're coming. Hopefully this weekend._


	16. Anemones

**Author's Note:** Merry Christmas everybody for whom Christmas is a notable day of the year! This is my teeny, tiny little present for you :)

Once it became apparent that I wasn't going to be able to finish up any of the bigger updates I'd been planning before Christmas hit (much too much to do with the pre-holiday prep) I pulled this one out of the draft pile. It was a chapter that had been in the original, so it didn't take much to clean it up.

They're rolling up on the weekend again, so that means Jack's Back. And this one is very light and fluffy.

* * *

_**Early January: Friday Night**_

**Anemones**

Hotch's fingers slowly inched up the side of Emily's Montgomery County Sheriff's Department T-Shirt.

Well, actually . . . his brain automatically corrected . . . it was _his_ T-Shirt. It had been a gift from Chief Ramsey after the sniper case. Not that that little piece of trivia mattered. It only mattered to the extent that the T-Shirt was simply one of the two obstacles . . . Emily's bra being the other . . . that was preventing him from reaching his intended goal that early evening.

Emily's breasts.

So his digits continued their surreptitious journey northward, slowly sliding around the curves of Emily's right side.

And then Emily murmured from her position in front of him on the couch.

"Hotch, are you trying to cop a feel?"

His nose wrinkled . . . red light.

Damn.

"I was," Hotch gave a sigh of defeat as his hand dropped down to Emily's stomach, "but if you have to ask, then perhaps I wasn't doing it correctly."

Feeling Emily's laughter vibrate through the front of his chest, Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly.

Exasperation forgotten.

"No honey," Emily chuckled as Hotch gave her a brief squeeze, "you _were_ doing it correctly."

There was little that the man _couldn't_ do correctly, especially when it came to those fingers of his. And as a reward for his (industrious) efforts at feeling her up so early in the evening, Emily twisted slightly, turning to give Hotch a long . . . wet . . . 'thank you for being you' kiss. And then with a happy sigh she settled back against his chest again. But then she felt the magical fingers begin their slide back up her side once more, and she realized . . . in retrospect . . . slipping Hotch the tongue had probably given him a 'mixed signal' about her plans for the evening. So she was forced to give the fingers a playful slap.

"Hey," he grumbled in her ear, "what's the deal here?"

A SECOND flag on the play? After THAT kiss? Come on!

"I'm sorry Aaron," Emily tried to hide her amusement at his disappointment, "but we can't. Not now."

Then she tipped her head.

"Your son is asleep not three FEET away from us . . . which was rather the point of my _first_ inquiry about your intentions. Why in God's name are you trying to start things up now? You know, when your son's _in_ the room?"

Had he lost his mind?

As Emily turned to look at Jack, Hotch's gaze followed immediately after. Then his lip quirked up slightly as he looked down at his son sleeping soundly on the hardwood floor.

His little mini-me with Hayley's chin . . . and God help him . . . her Uncle Ned's ears.

But hopefully he'd grow into those.

And at present the little man was curled up in his new SpongeBob comforter. It was the comforter bought specifically . . . during their LENGTHY Target trip . . . to be kept in Jack's room at Emily's condo. And that's where it had been until it was dragged downstairs after dinner.

Jack had mentioned said new comforter every time Hotch had spoken to him that week.

It was clear that he was in love with it.

So much so that he'd curled himself up and fallen asleep in his little cocoon barely fifteen minutes into their Friday night viewing of Finding Nemo. It was Jack's favorite.

But to Hotch's amazement . . . given Emily's _extensive _knowledge of Saturday morning cartoons . . . his girlfriend had _never_ seen Nemo before. How this was possible he didn't know, but she hadn't, and she'd of course gotten completely sucked into the movie from frame one.

This was evidenced by the sad, "oh," and squeezing of his hand when Nemo's mother died in the opening.

So even after it became obvious that the littlest member of the viewing audience had passed out, Emily had insisted on continuing with the film . . . another forty minutes now . . . rather than moving on to engage in more 'adult' Friday night activities.

Now never let it be said that Hotch didn't enjoy a good Pixar flick as much as the next gun toting federal agent with a preschooler . . . not that he was about to advertise that fact around the office . . . but he had already seen this _particular_ Pixar flick all the way through at least twenty-seven times.

Seriously, they'd worn out the first disk.

So the suspense over whether or not Nemo would make it back to the anemone had worn off for Hotch approximately twenty-six viewings ago. Hence his efforts at trying to find some _other_ way to occupy his time this cold, rainy Friday evening.

Again, the activities he was looking to engage in were a bit more 'adult.'

But unfortunately Emily was not (as of yet) on board with this plan. Though he had to admit 'The Jack Card' was a nice countermove on her part, Hotch wasn't ready to accept defeat just yet. There was no reason they had to wait until they went to bed to have fun.

That was just a defeatist's attitude!

"Sweetheart," Hotch began his logical counter argument, "the operative word is SLEEPING. Of course I wasn't suggesting that we practice making Jack a baby brother. I was just thinking that we could engage in a little," he ran his hands boldly up the front of her shirt, stopping to gently squeeze at what he felt was a strategic location, "affectionate nuzzling."

Finally . . . he nodded in triumph as his hands settled up camp . . . got some nipple action!

"Affectionate nuzzling?" Emily snorted as she . . . this time . . . simply resorted to manual removal of Hotch's hands from her boobs.

Two seconds and he'd already started playing with them!

"I know just how 'affectionate' your nuzzling is mister." And then . . . still holding his hands tightly in hers . . . Emily turned to shoot Hotch an amused look over her shoulder. "And Jack could wake up at _any_ minute! He's FOUR! Do you really think that you're ready to explain how Miss Emily's _bra _ended up on the back of the couch?"

Just then . . . as if on cue . . . Emily heard Jack begin to stir. And as she turned her head, she saw a fist come out from under the quilt to rub the fluttering lids on the sweet little face. And seeing that he was now . . . clearly . . . awake, Emily shared a guilty look with Hotch.

They hadn't been talking as quietly as they should have been.

This was their fault.

Jack slowly pushed himself to himself to his feet. And then . . . with the corner of his Nemo blanket clutched tightly in his little fist . . . he called over to the couch.

"Daddy?" he yawned, 'Miss Emily? Can I lay down with you?"

His words were soft and sleepy and Emily felt another little tick tock in her biological clock as she immediately patted her lap.

"Of course baby," she offered Jack a soft smile as she put her hand out and wiggled her fingers, "come on. Daddy and I are sorry we woke you up. Do you want to finish watching Nemo now?"

Given that Jack had passed out so quickly, even though he'd been sleeping for a while. It was really only a little after seven.

And his bedtime wasn't for another hour.

"Uh huh," Jack nodded as he walked over and climbed up onto Emily's lap. Then he turned towards the TV before laying his head on her breast and wrapping his little arms around her mid-section.

The quilt was hanging down to the floor.

As Emily started rubbing circles on Jack's back, Hotch couldn't stop the smile sliding across his face as he looked down at his two favorite people, both now piled on top of him. Both safe and sound.

For a little while. And he made a mental note to add this couch lying arrangement to their regular weekend activities.

And then he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

When Emily leaned back, she tipped her head against his chest again. And when he saw her attention drift back to the film, Hotch's left hand curled around hers, and then his right hand came down to rest on the back of his son's head.

Okay . . . he thought as he also turned back to the talking clownfish . . . apparently there _was_ something to be said for Friday nights with an all Pixar lineup. So next week . . . he mentally flipped through his animated movie line-up . . . if they got home early enough, they'd watch Monsters' Inc. It wasn't one that Jack asked for very often . . . okay, Jack never asked for it . . . but still they'd worn out the first disk.

Hotch's lip quirked up as he thought back on the antics of Mike Wazowski.

That one was his favorite.

* * *

_A/N 2: Merry Christmas! The other updates you're waiting on will start going up Monday. _


	17. All In

**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for the feedback last time around! :) And now we're moving back here again. They're now moving into week 4 of her diagnosis and as the cancer treatments continue, they'll begin to take their toll. Because that's what cancer treatments do. Not that we're going to be stuck down in the heavy and morose for the rest of the journey, it's just an FYI that you'll have more reminders generally that she is sick. And the focus of this one particularly, is that she is sick.

This scene was in the original post, but I basically rewrote the whole thing because I was never totally happy with the first post and I wanted a different feel for it for the redux. Personally I like this version much better. But if you're one of those couple people that sometimes reads the original over when I put up the new version (and I know that there are 1 or 2 of you :)) I hope you like the changes too!

This is picking up on the Monday after we left them on the couch with Jack.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

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* * *

**Story Title Prompt Set #10 - Romance Authors (February 2011)**

Author: Gerard Daniel Houarner

Title Challenge: I Love You and There is Nothing You Can Do About It

* * *

_Mid-January: Monday Night_

**All In**

Hotch let his eyes fall shut for a moment . . . but just a moment.

Any longer and he was afraid of falling asleep.

And though it was after two am, at present . . . his eyes popped open again . . . it was important that he stay awake than go to sleep.

Important for Emily.

Right now she was curled against his chest, sleeping the fitful sleep of someone whose body had begun to betray her. Though her headaches . . . for this evening anyway . . . seemed to be held at bay, the radiation was starting to catch up with her.

All day she'd been exhausted . . . and all night she'd been both exhausted _and_ nauseous. And though she hadn't actually thrown up . . . which might have made her feel better . . . she'd been feeling too sick to actually lie down either. So she'd just go in and sit on the edge of the tub for a while, and then she'd move back to the foot of the bed again.

Back and forth for over an hour.

It took him that long to finally convince her to try . . . again . . . to just rest.

That was the point where she'd looked like she was going to collapse from exhaustion. And fortunately she hadn't fought him on his suggestion . . . he had a feeling that she was too tired to even try . . . instead she just gave in with a sigh. Then she'd slipped off her flannel pants . . . and with another rub of her stomach . . . finally climbed back into bed with him.

So with her in her oversized pink Hello Kitty nightshirt . . . which was for some reason making him very sad tonight . . . Hotch had dropped the battlefield tactics book he'd been pretending to read, and slid down onto his pillow so she could curl against his chest.

She'd cried herself to sleep.

That was just over an hour ago.

It hadn't been a good sleep though. She kept moaning and fidgeting, and he knew that even in the netherworlds . . . she still felt like shit. And he was pretty sure that the only reason that she wasn't back to hovering between the bathroom and the bedroom, was the physical exhaustion that had overtaken her.

At the moment that was the clear winner in this little game of tug of war.

But he knew from the moaning that sleep wasn't going to last long. The nausea . . . which her current dose of medication had less control over the more her treatments continued . . . was going to win that night.

Which was why he had to stay up.

She was going to need him to take care of her.

In the meantime though . . . he gave his eyes another moment's respite . . . he just kept lightly rubbing her back like he would do for Jack when he was a baby. Hotch was trying to make sure that Emily stayed asleep as along as she could.

But even with his efforts . . . that only lasted another ten minutes. That's when he suddenly felt her whole body tense up.

"Oh shit."

The words came right as she bolted out of bed . . . her hand was covering her mouth.

And though Hotch was only a split second behind her, Emily was already halfway through the bathroom door by the time his feet hit the carpet.

He caught up just as she began to retch into the toilet.

So . . . again, as he did when she was sleeping . . . he did all that he could. Though in this instance all he could really do was just hold her hair and rub her back as he prayed for the thousandth time that he had the ability to take this disease from her.

That they could trade.

Because if he could . . . his eyes began to burn as he felt her body shaking . . . he would take it from her in an instant. But that was more foolishness. Because even for all that they shared . . . more in their short time than he ever had with Haley in all their years . . . he couldn't share this burden. This one was hers alone to carry.

And this one was a bitch.

Every time she seemed to be done . . . she'd try to lean back gasping for air . . . it would come on again. Of course by then there was nothing left in her system, so she was stuck with nearly ten minutes of dry heaves that he knew were killing her stomach. But then finally . . . after almost a minute of calm while she caught her breath . . . Emily lifted her hand slightly.

"Okay."

The word was raspy and tear filled, and he was quick to drop the lid and flush the toilet for the third time. Then he shifted around, sliding one arm behind her back, and another under her legs. A second later he'd scooped her up from the hard ceramic.

"Aaron . . ." Emily tried a token . . . weak . . . effort to protest, "I can walk."

Fortunately he just ignored it, because she really couldn't walk. She was exhausted and her legs felt rubbery from all the time stuck on the floor. So she just let him carry her over to the vanity.

After Hotch had placed Emily down on the black slate . . . kicking himself even as he did it for not thinking to put a towel down first . . . it had to be cold . . . he paused for a moment to look down at her.

What he saw made his heart ache.

Her eyes were glassy, her skin was ashen, and there were sweaty tendrils of hair stuck to her face.

She looked awful.

But more than that . . . his jaw clenched . . . she looked sick.

"You still doing okay?" He asked softly as his hands fell down to run along her bare thighs.

By okay, he was just looking to find out if she was going to throw up again in the next five minutes.

Emily nodded slowly, "yeah," she rubbed her stomach, "for now."

Christ, did she hope that 'for now' would last for the rest of the night. She really didn't think that she had the energy to go through that again.

"All right," Hotch slid his hands up to slip his fingers under her pink nightshirt, "then let's get this off of you."

Not only had she basically sweated through it, but at some point she'd gotten a small spattering of vomit on it. And he was careful to keep that section away from her skin . . . and her nose . . . as she lifted her arms for him to tug it off.

After he'd folded it in half . . . tucking the dirty part in the center . . . he tossed it in the general direction of the laundry hamper.

As it hit the floor, he made a mental note to rinse it out after Emily fell back to sleep. Though it did have a bit of sick on it, it was still salvageable. Besides that though, he just didn't want to throw it away.

It was one of her favorites.

As he turned back, Hotch noticed that . . . in the five seconds that minor task had taken . . . Emily's nipples had peaked while the rest of her upper body had broken out into goose bumps.

She caught cold so easily.

And not having any other clothes to put on her . . . the bedroom suddenly seemed far away . . . he hurriedly yanked off his own t-shirt.

"Here sweetheart," he whispered, his eyes crinkling faintly as he moved to slip it over her head, "all warmed up and everything."

As she twisted to pull on the white cotton, he made another mental note . . . this time to start tucking a spare t-shirt in the bottom drawer of the vanity. They had three more months of treatment. And though it killed him to think about so many more days and nights like this one . . . nights where she suffered so much . . . he knew that he needed to be practical.

And practically speaking, this would not be the only time that Emily threw up on her clothes.

"Thanks honey," Emily murmured as Hotch helped her slide her arms into the sleeves of his clean . . . warm . . . shirt.

Then . . . just as she was about to ask him to pass the mouthwash . . . she saw him move over to start filling a cup for her.

Her eyes began to sting . . . first picking her up from the floor, then the t-shirt switch, and now this. He was just so damn . . . she bit her lip . . . sweet.

But she was trying so hard not to cry again . . . trying so hard to suck it up . . . so she couldn't allow herself to pause for more than a second to consider just how wonderful he was.

Just how lucky, _she_ was.

So before her emotions got the better of her, she hurriedly blinked the tears away. And when he turned back with the mouthwash in hand, she gave him a faint . . . exhausted . . . smile as she took the small paper cup from his hand.

"Thanks hon," she whispered for a second time, this time punctuating it with a squeeze to his fingers. But he just shook off the gratitude with a hush as he kissed her forehead.

Once Emily had successfully rinsed out her mouth (twice) . . . without any additional throwing up in the process . . . Hotch held up her purple . . . pre-toothpasted . . . toothbrush.

"Want to give this a shot?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

A bit of mouthwash was one thing, jamming a plastic stick in your mouth when your gag reflex was as sensitive as hers was at the moment, was something else.

"Um," Emily looked down worriedly at the purple brush, "I don't know." Then she shook her head, "no, maybe I'll wait a little bit."

Yes, she did REALLY want to brush her teeth . . . the Listerine had gotten the gross taste off her tongue, but her mouth still didn't really feel 'clean' . . . but she was more afraid of making herself throw up again.

She just _really_ didn't have the energy for it.

"No problem," Hotch turned to put the brush back into the cup, "we'll just put it back for now."

That's kind of what he'd expected. So he moved on to the next thing on his list.

Cleaning her up.

After he'd wet a washcloth with warm water, he turned and began wiping down Emily's forehead . . . and then her still flushed cheeks . . . and finally her sweaty neck.

Her hair was sticking to it.

It wasn't until he had moved to rewet the cloth . . . he was thinking a quick overall sponge bath might help . . . that he felt Emily's small hand fall onto his arm.

"Aaron," Emily whispered as she weakly squeezed Hotch's wrist, "you have to work tomorrow. You should go back to bed. I'll be fine," she cleared over the lump forming in her throat, "really. I'll be along in a little bit."

'_After I have a good cry,_' she thought sadly as her watery gaze dropped to the tile floor. She just couldn't handle him being so perfect right now.

It was destroying her control.

Hotch looked down at Emily in astonishment . . . did she actually just say what he thought she'd just said?

"Sweetheart," he dropped the facecloth on the counter as he turned to her in disbelief. "I'm not _leaving_ you in here by yourself. I'm _never _going to leave you when you're sick. Ever. It's just not happening. So you need to put that thought out of your mind. It's a waste of oxygen to say it out loud. And it's a waste of energy to even think it."

Emily slowly lifted her head, and when their eyes caught, Hotch saw the tears in her voice had begun to trickle run down her cheeks. She looked so sad that Hotch's own eyes began to burn.

He reached out and pulled her to his chest.

"Emily," he whispered in her ear, "I'm here for everything, not just the fun stuff. All in remember?" He rubbed his hand down her back, "well, that's all in, _all_ the time, got it?"

He understood how hard it was for her to wrap her brain around that . . . it had been just had hard for him last month when she'd been so insistent on taking care of him. Being physically dependent on another person was new for them. But she was sick, and this was only going to get worse before it got better. So she needed to get her head straight on this point now.

Fighting him was pointless.

Emily sniffled against his chest, "yeah," she bit her lip, "I got it."

It was quiet for a minute, and then Emily sniffled again right before she moved her head slightly to mumble into Hotch's throat.

"I don't deserve you."

At that, Hotch pulled away. His heart was filled with sadness.

Then he shook his head.

"Emily," he murmured back as his palm cupped her cheek, "how can you even think such a thing? You were my salvation. This job was taking everything from me. I was _allowing_ it to take everything from me. Haley, Jack, my old friends, my ability to find _any_ joy in life. I was choosing to immerse myself twenty-four hours a day in a world of pedophiles and rapists and serial killers," his jaw twitched as his hand fell down to her hip, "even saying it now it sounds ridiculous, that I would choose that life over a real one. But I did . . ." his brow darkened, "for months. My world was going to shit."

"But then," his eyes suddenly brightened, "one day I asked you to get a cup of coffee with me. And then on another day you asked me to go to lunch with you. And slowly, bit by bit, you began pulling me out of that darkness," his voice caught, "sweetheart, you gave me my _life_ back."

Seeing the tears were now sliding freely down Emily's face, Hotch gave her a watery smile. "So you just remember that. You remember everything I just said, because I'm never leaving you." Then he leaned forward to brush his lips against her ear. "You're my best girl."

Emily slapped her hand over her mouth to try to choke down the sob that came bubbling up . . . but she wasn't very successful. So as it slipped out . . . in an ugly, unladylike snort . . . she decided to just go with it. What was so great about control anyway?

That was for suckers!

So as another sob came rushing up, she threw her arms around Hotch's neck as she shimmied forward so she could she could hook her legs around his waist.

Their bodies were then pressed completely together.

"I don't care what Dave says!" She sobbed in his ear, "You TOTALLY kicked his ass at the range last week!"

There was no way that she could ever top that absolutely _amazing_ speech . . . she squeezed him as tightly as she could to her body . . . because it was absolutely untoppable.

So she wasn't even going to try.

Hotch burst out laughing at Emily's response . . . and that right there was exactly why she was his girl.

"Thank you sweetheart," he said with a snort as he buried his face in her neck, "that's the nicest thing that you've ever said to me."

"Yeah, well," she sniffled against his shoulder, "ditto."

He huffed softly.

"I love you too."

Then he leaned back to kiss her forehead.

"So," he picked up the washcloth to begin washing her face again, "let's try this again. If you think that you're feeling well enough, we can go back to bed. But if your stomach's still bothering you," he turned to rinse out the cloth again, "then I'll go get a blanket and we can set up camp in here for a while."

At this point he'd rather given up the idea of getting any sleep himself . . . he had operated on less than three hours and survived . . . so all he was worried about was whether or not Emily got enough rest. Which . . . by the clock on the wall . . . meant that he wanted her to lie down for at least another four hours.

They were definitely going in late tomorrow.

"Um," Emily nervously bit her lip as she looked between Hotch and the bedroom, "I um . . ."

For a moment she hesitated . . . she didn't want to tell him that she was afraid to go back to bed again. Though her stomach did seem to have settled down . . . again, for the moment anyway . . . there was no telling when the nausea would come back again. And she'd just barely made it to the toilet last time.

That's how she'd ended up with vomit on her shirt.

But she couldn't imagine asking Hotch to sleep on the bathroom floor with her either. Though she understood now that asking him to go to bed without her was a pointless request, she was serious about him needing his rest.

He had to work in a few hours.

She needed to make a decision though. And just as she was about to open her mouth . . . she was going to tell him that she could try the bed . . . he patted her leg.

"Wait, I have a door number three. Stay here."

Then he turned and headed back into the bedroom. After stopping by the dresser to pull out a fresh t-shirt, he went over and grabbed their pillows and blankets from on top of the mattress.

After that he walked back around to the foot of the bed and placed everything on the small bench. Then he remade their bed on the floor . . . starting with the comforter as the bottom layer, before working his way back up to the pillows.

Okay then . . . Hotch looked through the open doorway to Emily watching him from the sink . . . that was their door number three.

"It's just six feet sweetheart," he said with a little smile as he walked back over the threshold, "half the distance from the bed itself." He stopped in front of her, his hands again falling to her thighs as his eyebrow quirked up faintly, "is six feet okay?"

Emily looked between Hotch and the little nest he'd made for them by the door. Her eyes started to water again.

"Uh huh," she whispered while leaning forward to rest her ear over his heart.

"Six feet is perfect."

* * *

_A/N 2: The first version of this (though it contained the same skeleton as this one) was overall a bit more 'morose.' The ending was definitely heavier. But here I switched things around a smidge, carried the scene out a tiny bit further, and ended up with a more 'romantic' ending than the more dramatic one that I had the first time around. And that's why I like rewriting this, and that's why I keep all prior versions under lock and key ;) I think my instincts overall are better now so I'm trying to write a 'better' version of the story without actually violating any of the basic elements of the tale that people enjoyed the first time around. It's a tricky business! :)_

_And yes, I do feel badly that Em's getting her butt kicked in like every story I'm writing right now. But I'm trying to dig her out of these holes._

_So anyway, that's that. And the next chapter here is going to be a brand new addition that I've started sketching out. They're going on a little date. Their version of one anyway. I've been bouncing around to a lot of drafts over the last week so I'm going to see how many things I can update before the end of the month. We're aiming for at least "a lot." :)_

_But thanks your patience here as we move forward. I will try to get at least two more chapters up before March. Barring some unexpected upset, I think that's very doable even juggling other stories. _

_That's for reading!_


	18. Retracing The Past

**Author's Note: ** First post in forever I know. If you aren't following me on twitter/tumblr you won't understand about the huge gap, so please know, gaps on all stories are likely to be the norm going forward. If you have any interest in the back story there, (it's not a crises or anything) you can 'read all about it' over on Tumblr. It was about a week or so ago :)

To this, brand new chapter here that wasn't on first post. And I'm presuming that by now all of you reading this story have completed Girl proper. If not, I'd suggest at least checking out chapter 38, Last Call, because knowing the events there, are going to be very helpful in understanding the events here. Because here, Hotch and Em are taking a road trip back to Smokey's!

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

* * *

**Prompt List #33 (August 2011)**

Show: Cheers

Title Challenge: Where Nobody Knows Your Name

* * *

_Mid January: Thursday**  
**_

**Retracing The Past**

"And you're really sure that you're up for this?"

Hearing the not so faint note of concern in Hotch's voice . . . it had shown up about three hours ago . . . Emily looked across the seat at him with a little smile.

She hoped it was a reassuring one.

"Honey," she reached over to squeeze his knee, "I swear to you, I'm feeling really good today_._ Much better than earlier in the week. And all we're going to do tonight is play a couple of games of pool, and maybe take a couple of spins around the dance floor if I can talk you into it. And you know that neither of those activities is likely to wear me out."

Seeing the look that Hotch shot her . . . she hadn't mentioned the dancing earlier . . . Emily's eyes crinkled as she added with a faint smirk. "Aaron, you know that dancing is a much less strenuous an activity than what we did last night. But either way," she patted his leg as the smirk changed to a soft smile, "we'll still be home earlier enough for you to tell me that it's getting passed my bedtime."

Though she hated that he worried so much these days . . . her stomach fluttered slightly as his fingers curled around hers . . . it was still incredibly sweet when he did it.

He was showing her that he loved her.

"Okay," Hotch shot Emily another quick glance as he let go of her hand to hit the directional to get off the Beltway, "if you're sure."

"I am," she squeezed his knee tightly, "I'm _very_ sure, that I'm _very_ good."

At least right now she was, and right now was all that mattered.

It was Thursday night, just past seven o'clock and they were heading to Smokey's Bar. It was their first trip there in almost a year.

Since the night that Hotch had signed his divorce papers.

A long time ago.

But Emily had been thinking a lot lately about her past. Nothing big, just the usual life or death considerations that most people have when mortality comes knocking at their door. And one of the things that she'd been thinking about, were the early days of her relationship with Hotch. All the little building blocks that led them to where they were now. The first hugs, first dances.

First kisses.

It was funny, so many of those early milestones . . . though she'd had no idea that's what they were at the time . . . had come _months_ before they had really even started spending time together. And they were all LONG before they'd actually fallen in love.

But that night at Smokey's had been a big night for them.

A good night for them.

Well, marital breakdown circumstances notwithstanding, it was a good night for them. But really, if the marriage hadn't broken down, then they wouldn't have gotten together . . . so it all worked out in the end.

It all worked out as it was meant to be.

But their relationship had definitely taken a very curious path from the beginning to the now. And as much as Emily loved the now . . . Hotch fingers came back down to cover the hand still sitting on his knee . . . she wouldn't change the beginning for anything either. Because all of it . . . the ugliness and the messiness and the stops and starts . . . it had been the foundation for what came later. And that's why she wanted to go back to Smokey's.

To go back to their beginning.

Because she'd come to see that . . . as bizarre as it was . . . in retrospect, that had really been their first date.

In a pool hall.

Her eyes crinkled slightly . . . of course it wasn't a particularly romantic place for a first date . . . too many guys with spikes through their noses . . . but they hadn't planned it that way anyway. It was just what she saw from perspective that made it was what it was.

Their history.

Of course Hotch . . . not being a fan of Smokey's the bar in general and Smokey the man in particular . . . probably would not agree with her reasoning there.

Which was why she hadn't shared it with him.

He would have just furrowed his brow and shaken his head and picked ten other days from their past that he would rank higher than that one. And he would have done it for the simple reason that he would not want Smokey to play any role . . . no matter how minute . . . in their very untraditional fairy tale.

He disliked him just that much.

But that was okay. Aaron could see things through his eyes and she'd see them through hers, all that mattered was that the events had happened as they had.

And that he'd brought her back here tonight.

Of course he had not initially been on board with her desire for this Thursday night outing. And it wasn't because of his general viewpoint that Smokey's was a shitty bar in a crappy location being run by a known criminal. No, that was all incidental.

His concerns had revolved solely around her health.

After she'd been so sick on Monday, he was worried that she wasn't up for any outings anywhere. Let alone ones to shitty bars in crappy locations.

But his concerns . . . in this instance . . . had been unfounded. She'd started feeling better on Tuesday.

That's when the doctor had upped her anti-nausea meds by another 10 mg.

So she'd kind of been reset to how she'd been feeling the week before. Which was not awesome . . . she hadn't felt 'awesome' in quite some time . . . but overall her stomach issues were at least under control. Which was why she'd been so insistent on going to Smokey's as soon as she'd had the urge to go. Because she knew that next week . . . and every week from then on out . . . was going to be a new ballgame. The headaches and nausea were all going to get worse. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the slow and steady sapping of her energy and spirit.

She was going to be like a battery being sucked dry.

And those things were all going to suck big time. So she needed to do _what_ she could, _when_ she could. And this week she could play pool.

And next week maybe she couldn't.

And even though Hotch understood these points as well as she did, it had actually taken the two days of cajoling . . . and one red silk teddy she'd broken out last night . . . to convince him that this trip was a good idea. His concern . . . in unadulterated black and white . . . was that she simply was no longer physically strong enough to handle herself in a sketchy bar like Smokey's.

That something could happen and she could get hurt.

Granted . . . Hotch began maneuvering into a three point turn for a parking spot a half a block down from the bar . . . he did have a very valid point there on the strength issue. Though she was having a good day, her energy definitely wasn't what it used to be. She did get tired more easily now.

Sometimes annoyingly so.

But she wasn't yet to the point where she couldn't work a full day, so she didn't think that her physical strength overall had diminished _that_ much. Really, it's not like she wanted to go MMA fighting, she just wanted to play a couple of games of pool.

It was a low effort, low energy activity.

The red silk teddy sex had been WAY more of a workout!

And as to the potential for 'physical danger' at the bar, she had her Sig on her hip. But more importantly . . . her eyes crinkled slightly as Hotch turned off the engine and turned to face her . . . she was going to have her Hotch wrapped around her other side.

And her Hotch . . . she leaned over to press a kiss to the worried face . . . was better than a full Secret Service Detail.

And cuter too.

"It's going to be fine Aaron," she murmured against his lips, "I promise."

Hotch leaned back slightly as his eyebrow went up.

"Do you also promise that if we run into any trouble that you'll let me deal with it?"

"Yes," Emily responded with a solemn nod, "I promise."

This was a point that she knew was non-negotiable if she wanted to actually make it inside the building.

Still though, Hotch's brow crept up another suspicious quarter inch.

"And do you also promise that you won't try to help me in any way?"

"But, what if you need my help?" Emily asked as her own brow wrinkled in confusion.

Again, she had her gun. And even if she wasn't up to smacking people around, she could still scare the shit out of them.

Or just, you know, shoot them.

"Sweetheart," Hotch responded flatly as he snapped back his seatbelt, "the day that I can't handle myself in a pool hall, no matter how low of repute it is, is the day that I'm turning in my badge and gun."

It was very sweet that Emily thought that she might need to help with any 'theoretical' incidents . . . and yes, in the field he did indeed need her to watch his back . . . but in the field they were running down serial killers. These were just bikers and druggies and ex-cons.

He could eat them for breakfast.

"Okay," Emily's lips twitched as her eyes rolled in gentle indulgence, "if you're sure that your superhuman abilities will negate even my need to call 911 on your behalf, then yes, I promise not to try to help you in any way either."

Silly man.

"Good," Hotch's fingers fell to the door handle as he leaned over to smack another quick kiss on Emily's lips, "then we can go in now."

Just because he'd agreed to this little excursion, didn't mean that he wasn't still worried about how she was going to actually get through it. So as much control as he could exert over her behavior inside . . . which was admittedly really all of the control that she _allowed_ him to exert . . . he was going to take.

That said, he did try to get the worried brow under wraps as they got out of the jeep.

He knew that she was excited about coming there that night . . . and God only knew when they'd get back there again . . . so he didn't want to ruin the whole outing by bringing down her mood with too much hovering or coddling.

So to that end, he made himself wait (semi-patiently) on the sidewalk as she circled around the front fender. After all, she wasn't an invalid . . . her eyes crinkled as she stepped up beside him on the sidewalk . . . so he was trying his damndest not to treat her like one.

"Ready?" Emily asked with a happy smile. And Hotch nodded back with a faint quirk of his lip, "yep."

Then he slipped his arm around her waist and started them down the broken sidewalk.

It was a short walk . . . only four or five car lengths in total . . . so within a minute they were sidestepping the smokers catching a butt out front.

Though as they walked up to the entrance, Hotch's brow rose slightly in curiosity. From the unmarred sheen of the red paint . . . and the lack of chips in the wood beneath . . . it looked like a brand new door. Which made his FBI brain start wondering just exactly how the old door had been destroyed.

Bar fight or bullet holes?

Perhaps . . . he suddenly pictured a raid . . . battering ram?

'_Doesn't matter,' _he reminded himself with a faint head shake as he pulled the handle. They were only there for an hour or so. So he could keep his curiosity under control . . . and his questions as merely personal brain teasers . . . long enough for Emily to shoot some stick. It would be a personal test of his self-control.

_Just how long could he keep 'SSA Hotchner' under wraps?_

Time would tell on that one.

Though all thoughts on that point were temporarily pushed aside, as Emily stepped in front of him to go through the door. That's when Hotch slid his hand down to her lower back. And as soon as he cleared the doorjamb himself, he slipped his arm back around her waist. That move was accompanied by a stony glare to anyone looking in their general vicinity.

He was marking her as completely "OFF LIMITS" to anyone who happened to be looking in their general direction.

Which was pretty much half the bar.

At least the half that could see the door. Of course he wasn't ordinarily so _'me Tarzan, her Jane'_ when they were out in public . . . though he was not above scaring the shit out of any man who stared at Emily's breasts, legs or ass for longer than five seconds . . . but tonight was different. They weren't _just_ out in public. They were out in a scuzzy bar packed with bikers, ex-cons . . . Congressional staffers.

All of your basic societal bottom feeders.

So he just wanted it crystal clear from the moment of entrance, that Emily was not to be spoken to. That she was not to be bothered in ANY way whatsoever.

She was with him.

And he could tell from the way Emily leaned into his side as her free hand came over to pat his stomach, that she was also looking to put out the same message. So Hotch gave the message a moment to sink in . . . everybody fuck off . . . and then fortunately the eyes started falling away from them.

Good . . . Hotch started walking Emily towards the bar . . . that should hopefully be the end of that. So he moved on to other matters.

Their lack of formal greeting by the owner of the establishment.

Mr. Smokey himself.

"Hmm, no Smokey," he observed offhand while scoping out the shady crew loitering by the bar, "do you think that he actually takes a night off occasionally?"

Doubtful, but it would be nice. Hotch was hoping . . . if possible . . . to not to have to be 'pleasant' (or some approximation therein) to the former head of the Outlaws.

Yes, the man had a tragic family history and had evidenced a soft spot for Emily . . . but he was still a scumbag.

"No," Emily shook her head as she stood on her tip toes slightly to scan the area, "I doubt it. He must be in the back."

Not once in all the times that she'd come to this bar . . . which was at least a couple dozen now . . . had she ever seen a night where Smokey hadn't turned up eventually.

Days off just didn't seem to be in his nature. Then she huffed to herself.

Kind of like somebody else that she knew.

And speaking of the somebody else . . . her head tipped slightly to the side as she looked up at Hotch . . . she really hoped that he was going to have a good time tonight.

After all . . . she bit her lip as two men across the room started pounding each other . . . this wasn't exactly his favorite location.

"You really are okay with us being here, right?" She asked with a touch of concern. But the concern seemed unfounded as Hotch looked down at her with a soft smile.

"Of course sweetheart. You wanted to play pool, so we'll play pool," he tipped his head over to the raucous beating going on in the corner, "even if we have to step over a few bloodied bodies to do it." Then he winked, "we'll just consider it a work day."

They had been a little light on the physical action lately, and as long as the pounding didn't turn into a massacre . . . i.e. enough blood was being spilled to warrant him interceding . . . then the pugilists could solve whatever their dispute was on their own terms.

Emily snorted, "okay then," she leaned up to kiss his cheek, "thanks honey."

"So," with a faint huff she switched gears while snapping her attention over to Lucas eyeing them suspiciously, "do you want to get a beer?"

Though Hotch had been very sweet going on the wagon with her . . . her wagon of course being mandatory because of medication interactions . . . if ever her man was going to need a drink to relax, this would be the place.

"No, no," Hotch's brow wrinkled slightly as he shook his head, "it's fine. I'll just get a ginger ale," he looked down at her, "you want a diet Coke?"

That was her standard.

And when Emily nodded, Hotch looked back over towards Lucas. His brow darkened slightly as he did . . . it wouldn't do to look soft in front of one of Smokey's men . . . while making a gesture for him to come towards them.

And of course as he moved down the bar, Lucas' own expression tightened up a notch as well.

Hotch huffed to himself . . . it was probably Smokey's rule one.

Never be nice to the feebs.

"You two sticking around?" Lucas asked warily.

The question wasn't really unexpected, though it still . . . for some reason . . . amused Hotch. He did so enjoy making convicted criminals uncomfortable.

So his lip quirked up slightly in a cold smile.

"We are. So if you need to run around back and tell your boss, feel free to do it now. But first," he tipped his head down to Emily tucked against his side, "get the lady a diet coke. Bottle preferably."

"And a ginger ale for him," Emily added with a pat to Hotch's stomach.

It was clear that their physical interactions had not escaped Lucas' attention . . . nor had the side arms that they were still wearing.

His eyes were bouncing around their bodies like he had rubber balls in there.

And though Hotch had a perverse inclination to tap his fingers on the butt of his pistol . . . just to see if he could make the balls stop bouncing . . . he let them hang at his side instead.

No reason to be THAT antagonistic . . . at least not this early in the evening.

Save some fun for later.

So once Lucas had dropped their drinks down on the counter . . . with a begrudging nod to Emily's cheerful, "thanks Lucas" . . . Hotch simply slid a ten back towards him.

"Keep the change."

And then he picked up his plastic bottle . . . Emily had already taken hers . . . and turned to start back towards the pool tables.

As they cut around the other patrons, Emily began pointing out some of the regulars that were still hanging about. Hotch was listening with half an ear . . . mostly he was watching for trouble spots . . . but then Emily started to laugh and his attention snapped back down.

"What?"

Emily was still laughing as she gestured slightly with her chin.

"Slash," he just saw me, waved, then saw you, and," she snorted, "flipped you off."

It was amazing the first impressions that Hotch could make. Though, as she thought back, Emily did recall that at one point on his original outing to Smokey's, Hotch had slammed Slash against the bathroom wall and threatened to tie his testes into a bow.

And then rip the bow off and toss it in the trash.

That was after Slash had 'accidentally' bumped Hotch into the sink when the two of them had crossed paths without Emily there to intercede. Of course it wasn't just the bump that had set Hotch off. Slash had also made a few choice words about Hotch's mother . . . and grandmother.

And Hotch himself.

So really . . . given that the Metro PD hadn't had to be called . . . that encounter had ended about as well as could have been expected.

That is, without a body bag.

Hotch's lips began to twitch at Emily's pronouncement.

"Did he now?" his gaze shifted towards the corner to see the man with the oversized lightning bolt carved over half of his face, still glowering at him, "I'm sorry I missed it."

Though it probably was for the best that he had. The comments about his mother/grandmother had not yet been forgotten.

Nor forgiven.

So if 'Slash' came within four feet of him, most likely he was going to be able to add a new nickname to the roster.

Something involving his ability to sing soprano.

But knowing that he couldn't get himself bogged down in those plans . . . Slash certainly wasn't the only asshole shooting him the eye at the moment . . . Hotch refocused simply on getting to the pool tables a little further back.

Though . . . he heard a slightly dejected sigh from his side as he looked over the area under the hanging lights . . . it did appear that they were all full at the moment.

"I guess we'll have to wait," Emily murmured as her head flopped to Hotch's chest.

Of course she should have planned for this possibility . . . the place had always been busy regardless of the night she went. But given that it was only Thursday, she'd just kind of figured that they'd luck out.

But no.

And from what she could see, these were all hardcore sharks at the tables . . . she'd played with half of them before and mostly gotten her ass kicked . . . so she knew that they could easily stay there until closing.

Which meant that she wouldn't get to play at all.

Hotch's gaze shifted down to the look of disappointment on Emily's face, and then back over to the four occupied pool tables.

He passed Emily his unopened bottle of ginger ale.

"Hold this for a second please sweetheart," he murmured while guiding her over to an empty wooden chair against the wall.

After he had Emily seated . . . now with a wrinkled brow to match her pouty lips . . . Hotch walked over to the opposite wall. There he shifted his body slightly so that Emily couldn't see what he was doing. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

He discretely fanned the bills inside the little leather pocket.

Just over four hundred.

He pulled out forty . . . then rolled his eyes and pulled out another sixty. With this crowd . . . and the stacks of cash sitting on those tables . . . there was no way that he'd get any takers on his request for less than a hundred.

So once he had the hundred curled in his fist, Hotch tucked his wallet away again and headed over to the table with the smallest wad of cash stacked on it.

It seemed his best place to start.

/*/*/*/*

Emily watched in confusion as Hotch walked over to one of the sharks in the corner.

What the hell was he doing?

He'd plopped her down in a seat, walked away . . . paused for a second to do something that she couldn't see . . . and then started off with some sort of purpose in his step. But she didn't know what he could be up to, because it was obvious from where she was sitting . . . somewhat obstructed view . . . that at least two of those tables had _serious _bets going on them.

And again, all four had professional sharks playing, so there was no way that any of them were in the midst of a 'friendly' game of anything. This was cash money all the way.

So they weren't going to let anyone else play until they were done bleeding each other dry. Which was why she was a bit surprised when Hotch interrupted one of the games.

Though not nearly as surprised as when he suddenly pointed back in her direction.

The other man's eyes followed over.

Emily's own eyes then widened in recognition . . . a name had just popped into her head . . . so she raised her hand in a small wave.

That was Big Slim. He'd once taken her for two hundred bucks . . . then the following week she won back that plus another hundred and seventy.

That was one of her biggest prizes ever.

Though she didn't know if Big Slim would remember her, she certainly remembered him. It wasn't likely she was going to forget the name of anybody who was six foot five and weighed a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet.

But as she thought back to that second pool tournament, Emily did recall Big Slim saying at the time that she was one of only three women to have ever taken a dime off of him.

So that was probably something that he was going to remember.

And sure enough, after he'd stared at her blankly for a second, she saw his eyes widen as his lips curled up into something resembling a smile.

It was a terrifying look.

But the poor guy was homely as sin . . . seriously there wasn't one symmetrical feature working on that face . . . so as she recalled, his smiles had always been fairly upsetting to look at. He was a nice enough guy though.

For a street hustler.

And she could see him giving her the once over before he looked back at Hotch again. Hotch was saying something, then pointing to her again, then the table, then gesturing to his watch.

Big Slim said something back . . . Emily would have killed for one of those Miracle Ears about then . . . before he pointed to his opponent. Hotch nodded to whatever that was, and then the opponent shrugged.

Everyone was quiet for a second before Big Slim started saying something else as he tipped his head back in her direction. Whatever the something else was, it was a story that went on for nearly a minute. And by the time he was done talking . . . Emily's eyes widened in surprise . . . Hotch was grinning in a full wattage ear to ear . . . double barrel, dimpled . . . SMILE!

She'd never seen him display that much joy or enthusiasm . . . not to mention the dimples . . . to anyone outside of her, Jack and Sean. And she certainly never would have expected to see him light up like _that_, in a place like this.

But whatever had just been said, certainly had given him quite a bit of amusement. Because he was still smiling when he turned to look over at her.

And though she still had no idea what he was doing over there . . . or saying about her . . . she couldn't help but smile back.

He was just too adorable.

Then he winked at her and she felt a little spot of warmth burn in her chest. She loved those winks.

They were always just for her.

So she watched as he turned back to Big Slim, saying something else of relatively short duration right before the two men shook hands. After that, Hotch turned away and began cutting back around the pool tables again.

Finally he arrived back at the chair where he'd left her five minutes before.

He stopped in front of her.

"Would you mind sharing your seat with me, ma'am?" He asked with a trace of lingering amusement.

Emily's mouth quivered as she stood up, "that sounds like a very crass come on," she said while moving slightly to the side so that he could sit down.

Hotch's brow rose in amusement.

"Crass?" he huffed as he tugged her down onto his lap, "I'll have you know that's one of my best pick-up lines."

"Well," Emily laughed as she leaned back against him, "then thank God that I took you off the dating market, because you were going to end up getting _arrested_ with a routine like that."

Feeling the faint chuckle of laughter vibrating through Hotch's chest, Emily smiled. Then she patted the arm that had wrapped itself around her waist.

"So what were you doing over there? And what did Big Slim say that was so amusing that you actually smiled in public like a regular person?"

"Big Slim?" Hotch repeated as he cranked his head back to look into the corner, "yeah, I guess I can see that. And what amused me so much," he continued as his gaze shifted back to the woman in his arms, "was a story that he told me about you."

"Me," Emily repeated innocently, "what about me?"

Crap.

"Well," Hotch started slowly as he rested his chin on Emily's shoulder, "he was telling me how you, 'that hot lady fed,' as he referred to you, had once taken him fair and square for three hundred and seventy dollars. And that when someone in the crowd who'd bet against you, called you a quote, 'cheating little tramp,' end quote, you went over and knocked the asshole flat out on his back." Hotch chuckled, "but my favorite part of the story, was when you apparently ground your boot into the guy's wrist while you took the ten bucks out of his hand."

"Well," Emily huffed indignantly, "it was MY money!"

And the asshole didn't think he had to make good on the bet because she was a girl. Pfft . . . she thought back to him bleeding on the floor . . . showed him what girls can do.

Kick your ass six ways to Sunday, that's what.

"I never doubted it for a second," Hotch murmured as leaned forward to kiss her cheek, "I was just very proud of you is all."

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never tire of hearing tales of his girl's epic smackdowns.

She should have a cape and an invisible jet.

"Oh, okay," Emily's indignation immediately deflated as she patted Hotch's hand, "thanks. So," her gaze flickered briefly to the corner table, "did Big Slim say how many games they were playing? I'm assuming that was the main topic of your conversation," she rolled her eyes slightly, "not my bar room exploits."

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "actually he's going to let us have the table next. He just needs to finish this game."

Emily swung her head around in surprise.

"Seriously? But they usual go at least best of five, and it didn't look like he had enough money on that table to be more than a game in."

"Well," Hotch shrugged, "I pointed you out, said that you were my girlfriend, that you were pregnant and couldn't stay out all night, but wanted to play a couple of games of stick. It was just luck that he actually knew who you were, I wasn't expecting that. But that's when he told me that story about the last time he'd played pool with you. And he said that he could take a two hour break as long as we held the table until he got back," Hotch huffed, "apparently he's got a lady friend down the block, so he's going to head down there as soon as he finishes up this game."

The whole exchange was actually surprisingly civil. Big Slim . . . like so many of the upstanding gentlemen in this establishment . . . was a big fan of his Emily's, so he'd been amenable to doing her a harmless favor. Of course the hundred bucks that Hotch had also offered him as compensation for potentially lost winnings, had been what really sealed the deal to give up the table. But Emily didn't need to know about that. That's why he'd slipped it over discretely in the final handshake.

Let her think that for once somebody was nice just because.

There were too few people like that in their world.

"Hmph," Emily turned to give Hotch a kiss, "well thanks honey." Then she shifted to lean back against his chest again, "pregnant huh," she mused, "that was a good excuse."

Much better than the ridiculously melodramatic, "she has cancer!" Of course that was true, but again, ridiculously melodramatic.

Like she was in a damn Lifetime movie and crossing off items on her bucket list.

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "I thought it would work well for a smidge of sympathy. And actually," he cleared his throat, "Big Slim passed along his congratulations on our upcoming 'bundle of joy.'"

"Did he now?" Emily asked with a smirk, "and what did he say exactly?"

This ought to be good.

"Quote," Hotch responded stiffly, "'got that fine woman knocked up, did you? Good on you man for scoring a hole in one." Then Hotch paused for a beat, "really, said with a Jamaican accent Emily, it was very sweet."

Emily burst out laughing.

"Yeah," she snorted, "I'll bet it was right up there Shakespeare's best 'knocked up' sonnets."

"It was," Hotch nodded, "really. I think the 'hole in one' is what really gave it that extra touch of class."

And going by Emily's giggle . . . which resulted in a corresponding slip of one of his dimples . . . he knew that Emily did as well.

Then she sighed happily as she settled back against his chest.

"So I guess we still have at least twenty minutes to kill." She pointed to Big Slim's opponent, "I can't remember that guy's name, but as I recall he was pretty good too, so neither of them are going down that fast."

When they were that good, the goal with every shot wasn't just to get your own balls in, but also to fuck up the position of your opponent's.

So again, that was at least fifteen to twenty minutes of back and forth.

"Hmm," Hotch murmured as he checked his watch, "well, that's not too bad. We should still be out of here by ten at the latest."

They'd get home, he'd draw Emily a bath, make her some tea . . . a little snack to take with her evening pills.

He nodded to himself . . . yeah, she should still be in bed well before midnight.

"Yep," Emily bit her lip, "ten sounds about right."

Then, with a stifled yawn . . . she really wasn't tired, it was just normal long day yawning . . . her gaze shifted from the pool tables, to the other parts of the bar.

First to the center of the room with the tall, rickety tables . . . with the even more rickety stools. And then to the scuffed green leather booths along the wall . . . they were about half full.

And then finally to the small dance floor running opposite where they were facing.

Lots of people, lots of noise . . . her eyes crinkled . . . it was nice. It was nice just being out like a normal person. Just out pretending that _everything_ was normal.

Pretending the world was like it was before.

It was probably the last time that she'd be able to do that for a while. Well, out in a situation like this anyway. If she made a request to come back here a month from now, she knew that Hotch wouldn't be so amenable.

He'd probably just flat out say no.

And really . . . she felt a little sting of melancholy . . . he'd probably be right. A month from now she wouldn't have any business at all being in a place like this. And thinking about that . . . and thinking about the other things she wouldn't be able to do, she started to feel a little sad.

It was stupid . . . really it's not like her condition was new to her, these were all facts that had already been in evidence before they'd arrived there that night . . . but still, her emotions were what they were. And then she spotted a lanky blonde tossing back a shot of whiskey and her little bit of sadness welled up to an actual stinging of her eyes.

"I really miss JJ," she murmured as much to herself as to Hotch.

It was just a statement of fact. She did miss JJ.

She missed her a lot.

Still though, Emily was a little surprised when Hotch shifted her around in his lap so he could see her face.

"Do you want me to call and ask her to come meet us?"

"What?" Emily's eyes widened in surprise, "like, _now_?"

Was he nuts?

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "JJ and Will just live over in NW, Woodland I think, so if they swung around the city I bet they could be here in twenty minutes."

"But," Emily frowned, "what about the baby? And the fact that they might not actually want to, you know, leave their home?"

These seemed like kind of important questions.

"Well," Hotch slipped his phone from his pocket, "as to the baby, if they don't have a local sitter, I'm sure that Garcia would revel in pinch hitting on Godmother duties. And as for whether or not they'd like to leave their house," he shrugged, "we won't know unless we ask them. So," he held up his phone, "what do you say? Should we ask them?"

JJ and Will were the ONE other couple that they had actually socialized with in the past. Actually, they were the one other couple that they socialized with period.

Hotch wasn't really a big fan of . . . people. But he was actually a very big fan of JJs, and he had a growing respect . . . and affection . . . for Will.

He was a good guy.

And if it would make Emily happy to see her girlfriend . . . it had been painfully obvious from her tone that she was genuinely missing her right now . . . then he saw no downside in asking the other couple if they'd like to meet them for a game of pool. It was just a twenty minute drive and a couple of hours out of the house.

Again, everyone would be home by ten pm.

"Um," Emily looked at the phone dangling, and then back up to Hotch, "yeah," she smiled, "if you think maybe she might like to come out. I would kind of like to call her."

If nothing else at least she could talk to her for a minute. And maybe that would be enough to ward off the little twinge of melancholy that she was feeling about her friend.

That was the other thing about being sick.

You started to miss people that you didn't see often in a way that you didn't miss them when you were well. Because when you were _well_, you could always call them tomorrow. Because when you were well, there was always another tomorrow.

An endless supply.

But when you were sick, tomorrows started to come with question marks on them.

That reminder that eventually your tomorrows ran out.

Of course everyone's tomorrows run out eventually . . . but right now _her_ eventually, might be a little more eventual, than it was for most. And for that reason she'd been trying to think of a way to get together with JJ for the last few weeks.

Really since the Christmas party last month when they'd actually promised to do so.

But given how little excess energy she had by the end of the day . . . and her general desire to spend all of her weekend free time with her boys . . . Emily hadn't yet figured something out.

Of course if she could just invite JJ to bring the baby over some weekend, that would great. But with Hotch's moving in still a secret . . . technically Hotch himself was still a secret but that was more of a grey area when it came to JJ and Will . . . she couldn't very well invite anyone else from the team into her home.

Their home.

It was filled with pictures of the two of them with and without Jack. Plus all of the toys and children's books and drawings and just the general evidence of an actual family living in a small space. Which was wonderful on every point imaginable.

Except for secret keeping of course.

But a simple game of pool . . . she slipped the phone from Hotch's hand . . . that should be just the ticket.

If JJ wanted to come out of course.

Really though . . . Emily popped into Hotch's speed dials . . . she might be happy for a couple hours out of the house.

As she pressed down on the green button, Emily tipped her head against Hotch's shoulder. And as the phone began to ring in her ear, she felt him rubbing soft circles on her stomach.

It was nice.

And then JJ picked up the phone.

"Hi Hotch," she answered a little breathlessly, "what's up?"

"Hey Jayje," Emily's eyes crinkled, "it's actually me. I stole Hotch's phone."

"EM!" JJ's voice shot up three octaves, enough for Emily to pull the phone slightly away from her ear, "hi! How ARE you? You know I was just saying to Will over dinner that I should call you this weekend and see if you guys wanted to come over. Remember we said that we'd do that at the Christmas party and then we never did," then her voice faded slightly, "I really miss you."

Hearing the sadness in JJ's words, Emily's began to sting again.

"Yeah," she whispered back, "I miss you too. That's actually why I was calling," she cleared her throat, "um, Hotch and I are at this bar and uh, well, I know it's really last minute and you've got the baby and all, but we were wondering if maybe you and Will might want to come meet us and play some pool. We only have the table for a couple hours so you'd be home by ten."

The words had barely left Emily's mouth before JJ jumped all over them.

"Oh! That sounds like fun! Yeah, um, let me talk to Will but I'm sure he'll say yes," she chuckled, "he was just complaining that they blacked out the game he wanted to watch tonight so he's got nothing else to do. And the baby's already down so I just have to ask the girl next door to come sit with him. So let me give her a call and then you can text me directions on where we're going."

"Sounds like a plan," Emily said with a grin before adding with her hand over her mouth, "oh and you might want to take your gun, because we're sort of in a bad neighborhood of a bad quadrant."

Actually, the _worst _neighborhood of the _worst _quadrant, but why quibble?

"Oh," JJ's tone rose slightly in interest, "which bad neighborhood?"

"Anacostia."

And JJ burst out laughing.

"Only you would go play pool in the worst neighborhood in the city!"

"I know, I know," Emily chuckled, "I've heard it all from Hotch."

"Yeah," JJ snorted, "I'll bet. So yeah, okay, we'll come armed! See you in a bit."

"K," Emily smiled, "the text will be there in a minute. Bye."

"Bye!"

And then there was a dial tone. Emily turned to shoot a grin at Hotch.

"They're on their way!"

* * *

_A/N 2: So yeah, two parter trip to Smokey's. I'd really wanted to work JJ and Will specifically more into this version of the story, so I thought this was a good place to do so._

_And I do see given her illness, that Emily would be looking back over their past with a new eye. That was an element not covered in the first version. But of course the first version didn't actually have their past written :) _

_Otherwise, not much else to add here. I'm a bit tired (very tired) as the migraines have returned. _

_Thanks as always for any and all feedback past and future :) I'll pop back with something else this weekend probably._


	19. Sixty Years, Give Or Take A Day

**Author's Note:** Picking up shortly after we left them. And this is another story (like the pool party) that's kind of meandering a bit to places it hadn't been anticipated it would go. So this entry is a little deeper than the first chapter. More at the end.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

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* * *

**Prompt Set #31 (June 2011)**

Show: Judging Amy

Title Challenge: The Burden of Perspective

* * *

**Sixty Years, Give or Take a Day**

"So," Emily tapped her fingers anxiously against Hotch's wrist, "do you want to take me out for a spin?"

"Spin you out where?" Hotch murmured back absentmindedly.

He was trying to keep an eye on the game in the corner of the bar . . . Big Slim was winning.

"The dance floor, you goof." Emily said with a huff as she twisted around in Hotch's lap, "we've got a few minutes until the table opens up. And once we get it, you said that we'll have to hold it until Big Slim gets back. So this might be my only chance to get a dance in tonight," then she pouted slightly, "and you did promise."

No. He didn't.

"Okay, well first of all," Hotch responded with a faint snort as he shifted his full attention back to Emily, "I did NOT promise to take you dancing. As I recall, the first time that you even _mentioned _dancing was an offhand statement on the drive over. And my response then was a heroically restrained eye roll. _That said_," he continued drolly, "I can see that a DEFCON three pout is about to make an appearance, so," he nudged her bottom with his knee, "let's get moving before they finish up the game."

If they did somehow finish before Emily got at least one dance in, that would be his fault. It would make no sense that it was his fault, but it wouldn't change the facts of the situation. That was simply how life with Emily worked.

And he wouldn't change it for anything.

Emily's mouth started to quiver at Hotch's dramatics.

"It was only a DEFCON _four_ pout," she intoned dismissively while climbing to her feet, "and you know you love it."

Hotch snorted, again.

"I love _you_," he continued while sliding his arm around her waist, "the DEFCON level pouting, well," he shot her a look as he started walking them through the crowd, "we'll leave that point for discussion on another day."

He actually did enjoy the pouting. Well, not always of course. Not when it meant that she was genuinely sad, or seriously disappointed.

Then the pouting actually caused him some degree of physical pain.

But under 'mildly disappointed over an insignificant turn of events' circumstances, or 'Emily attempting to manipulate him into doing something that he didn't really want to do,' circumstances, he actually found the pouting to be quite amusing.

Not that he was going to elaborate on this point for Emily.

And that wasn't because he thought that she'd take greater pouting advantage than she did now . . . that wasn't even possible . . . it was because it was simply unnecessary. He knew from the little smirk that she was giving him, that she was already quite versed with his feelings on this topic. She pretty much knew his feelings on all topics, great and small.

He kissed her temple.

And that was the wonder of his Emily.

Emily smiled to herself as she placed her head on Hotch's chest . . . she did so love to tease him.

It was a happy thought, but then out of the blue . . . her happiness was gone. Sucked away with a bitter counter thought. One that made her eyes burn with hot tears.

_Who would tease him if she was gone? _

The question filled her with an unexpected . . . and indescribable . . . flood of grief. More than she could bear. It was a complete one eighty from her feelings of just a moment before. But that was because she knew . . . a tear started to slide down her cheek . . . no one would tease him. Even Dave would stop. She knew this just as she knew that nobody would be able to make him smile again. Or make him laugh. Or just make him happy.

He would be sad all the time.

This fact she knew as well as she did her own name. He would just climb back into his little shell, and then he would wall himself off from the world.

Of course for Jack he would try to engage. But it would be too hard to open himself up again, too painful.

It would take too much.

And she knew that, because she knew him. Knew him better than anyone. And she knew that if she died . . . if somehow the odds of full recovery suddenly twisted tragically against them . . . that he would be lost. And she knew this because in the reverse, she would be lost without him. There would be no more happy days. He was all of her missing pieces.

And to lose him, would be to lose herself.

Feeling that unwelcome flood of grief begin to burn a hole in her chest . . . this time it was the thought of the one being left behind . . . Emily turned to bury her face in the curve of Hotch's neck.

He had one arm wrapped tightly around her body, and the other he was using to cut a swath through the unruly crowd. At present he seemed unaware of this new twisting in her soul . . . this certainly wasn't the place for it . . . but she knew that wouldn't last much longer. It wasn't much farther to get where they were going.

And then he would see her face.

But as she felt the tension suddenly fill his body . . . most likely he'd just felt the wetness of her tears soaking into his shirt . . . she knew his blissful ignorance had passed. So she kissed his neck to stop the question from being asked.

"I'm okay," she murmured just as they reached the patch of shiny wood that had been designated the dance floor, "I just had a bad thought," she sniffled, "or two."

"What was the bad thought?" Hotch whispered as he pulled Emily to his chest and moved them over to the open patch of wall a few paces away.

This was not the first time that Emily had suddenly started crying for no apparent reason. It had happened to both of them more than once over the last month.

Though he of course kept his tears from her.

But the other morning, while she was in the shower, he'd been wiping shaving cream off his neck. And then his eyes were suddenly burning, for no apparent reason.

But of course there was a reason.

There was always a reason.

His had been the flash of a memory from the day before. Them in the kitchen. Emily had leaned over the breakfast bar to wipe away a stray dollop of shaving cream from behind his ear.

She'd deposited it on his nose.

And then she'd laughed . . . and walked off to get her coffee.

And that was the reason for his tears . . . and it was a damn good one. And as he heard Emily sniffle her reason in his ear . . . that she'd just realized how sad he would be if she died . . . he knew that hers was a damn good one as well. So much so that his eyes started to burn as they had that morning he envisioned a world where he was left with nothing but her ghost as company.

"Oh Emily," he whispered over the lump forming in his throat, "your gift for understatement cannot be denied. Because you have to know, that 'sad,' it would not even begin to cover it."

Her death was not something that he allowed himself to contemplate in his waking hours. Not fully. Some part of him felt as though if he envisioned it . . . pictured it in all of its horrible Technicolor . . . that it could happen.

That he was inviting that future.

Was that a foolish though? Yes. Of course. But so was imagining a world without Emily in it. He honestly couldn't think of a more ridiculous reality.

Except maybe one without Jack.

But nonetheless, seeing that his response had triggered a fresh flood of tears to run down Emily's face . . . which had obviously not been his intention . . . he quickly blinked away the moisture that had begun pooling in his own eyes.

A biker bar was obviously NOT a good place for them to get in touch with their feelings.

"But anyway," he continued with a false brightness as he leaned back to give her a slightly watery smile, "that's why you're going to get better, right? So you can drive me crazy for another fifty years."

He would literally kill for that. For fifty more years with her, he would take a life. Someone from their files.

Someone who deserved it.

And he wasn't sure if God was paying attention to them . . . some days he wasn't even sure that God existed . . . but if He did . . . and if He was . . . would He count that truth against their future?

Or for it?

He hoped not to have to find out.

Emily sniffled as she leaned up to press a kiss to Hotch's mouth.

And when she pulled away, she looked up at him for a moment . . . looked into him, for a moment. And whatever she saw there made her reach up to run her thumb along his lower lip.

"If you start eating your oatmeal like the doctor said that you should," she murmured, "then we might even be able to make it sixty."

Then she smiled.

Though the tears were still sliding slowly down her face.

"How do sixty more years sound?" She asked while wiping the back of her hand across her face and sniffling again, "do you think we can make it?"

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he began brushing the remaining tears from Emily's cheeks.

"I think we can do anything if we set our minds to it," he whispered, "So," he cocked his eyebrow slightly, trying to feign a detachment as he fixed her smeared mascara, "is it sixty years? Is that the plan?"

That body count might be getting a little higher . . . but that was okay too.

"Yup," Emily's lip quirked up as she tried to sniffle away the last drops of her unscheduled grief, "sixty's the plan."

It was a goal anyway. One far better than the three month blocks of time that she'd set for herself since the diagnosis.

Not that she thought that she only had the three months to live. Most days . . . like most people . . . she still believed that she could live forever. That was the human condition.

A belief in immortality.

At least your own.

But overall it just had been easier to deal with the cancer . . . or more specifically the treatment schedule, and the anticipated effects to her body . . . in smaller pockets of time. Get through this . . . and then get through that. And then get through the next thing. But she was selling herself short.

Selling them both short.

The long haul ticket . . . she took a deep breath . . . that was the only one to punch. That was the one with no refunds.

And no returns.

"Okay then," Hotch said as he rubbed his hand down Emily's back, "it sounds like I'd better pick up some of that oatmeal. And probably a second job to feed you in your twilight years. You do kind of eat a lot."

Feeling Emily's giggle against his chest, Hotch's lip quirked up slightly.

"Do you feel better now?" He whispered in her ear. And then he felt her nod, right before she murmured back. "I do," she tipped her head back, "definitely. Thanks honey."

And then she squeezed him tightly, so tightly that it made his chest hurt . . . though it had nothing to do with the pressure of her touch. And in that moment he wished that he could just take her home. It was still early, and she wasn't yet tired.

They could make love for hours.

But . . . he closed his eyes for a moment . . . she wanted to play pool. And though he was fairly certain that he could have persuaded her to go with the activities behind door number two, they'd already called JJ and Will.

And they would be there soon.

Okay Aaron . . . he sighed to himself . . . time to get it in gear. You'll have her home, and naked, soon enough. Right now she wants to dance, and she wants to play pool.

So let's get moving on door number one.

"So," Hotch asked as he pressed his lips to Emily's ear, "do you like this song for your dance? Or do you want to wait a minute while I go find you another?"

The joy of an old time jukebox . . . they actually got a little choice in the matter. Well, provided they could wait a minute for the current record to end.

"No," Emily smiled as she leaned back to look up at him, "this one's good. Can't beat the classics."

Billy Idol, Eyes Without a Face. A song from her very young youth. But fortunately youth enough that it wasn't tainted by the worst of her teen years.

It was actually just before everything went wrong.

So she was able to take Hotch's hand with a smile as she turned to lead him back over to the dance floor a few feet away.

"Time to shake a tail feather sweetie!" she called over her shoulder, "our guests will be here soon."

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he twirled Emily back to his chest.

"There will be no feathers," he smirked, "of any kind," his arm snaked around her waist, "being shaken tonight. You get one _slow _dance now," he pressed his lips to her ear, "perhaps one later. That is all."

It would be a very cold day in a very far off hell, where he would be caught dead 'dancing' . . . as in full out flailing of limbs . . . in Smokey's bar. He'd sooner walk through the place naked.

Actually, he would PREFER it!

"Hmph," Emily harrumphed as she leaned against Hotch's chest, "so much for those sixty years of undying devotion. What was that? Like four minutes?"

Hotch could feel his lips twitch as he rolled his eyes . . . and all was right with their world again.

"You keep that up sweetheart," he murmured in her ear, "and I'm going to trade out dance partners with your old buddy Slash. He's got quite the dish over there."

Actually, his girl was pretty skanky with the leather mini skirt and tank top . . . there was a chain connecting them. But . . . Hotch jiggled his head slightly . . . she did have some nice legs. Well, nice if you didn't mind the rings of razor wire tattooed around her thighs. But he figured you'd probably get used to it.

If you were so inclined.

Which is he wasn't.

Feeling her lips start to twitch, this was going to be good, Emily lifted her head to see what Hotch was talking about. Then she started to giggle.

"Aaron, she's got a face tattoo . . . of her face!"

It wasn't like 'life sized' or anything, but still, it was there. Clear as day. A miniaturized replica of her face, just sitting there on her cheek.

It was very odd. Funny, but odd.

"Oh," Hotch's brow knitted slightly as he looked back, "huh, didn't see that the first time. Bad angle." Then his nose wrinkled slightly as he looked down at Emily.

"Do think it's possible, that Slash is dancing with a girl named Face?"

Emily sobered up as she looked at Hotch seriously for a second . . . then back over to the other couple . . . and then back to Hotch.

"Yes," she nodded, "yes, I do."

"Huh," Hotch huffed, and she nodded again as her eyes tracked back across the dance floor.

"Huh, indeed." Then she tipped her head back.

"What would you say if I got a tattoo of my breast, on my breast? Or maybe just like an extra nipple off to the side?" She asked seriously.

Emily saw Hotch stare down at her for a moment . . . he had no expression. And then he looked away without saying a word.

Her lips started to twitch.

"So I take it that's a no?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

He ignored that question too.

Yep . . . she thought happily as he tucked her wordlessly back against his chest . . . sixty more years of busting his chops.

That was definitely the plan.

* * *

_A/N 2: It had been my intention to make the whole Smokey's outing as a more lighthearted excursion, and I'd even written out the scene of them walking over to the dance floor with a totally different vibe, but the melancholy kind of follows them where ever they go. Each of these offshoots has its own feel, and even when I try to mix in something else, the story itself kind of dictates moving back to the center. And the center here, is their relationship, everything kind of circles back around to that growth and the intensity of their bond._

_As far as secondary (or thirdondary) characters go, I'm starting to enjoy writing Slash :) He's just so vividly clear in my mind, and he's just always hanging out at Smokey's._

_Probably one more chapter here on this arc, (with JJ and Will), and then we'll move back to the story at large._


	20. Hug & Tell

**Author's Note:** Wrap up of their night at Smokey's, now with JJ and Will.

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_**I have a new website. If interested, you can read more about it (and my future on FF . net) on my Tumblr listed below. It's the June 10**__**th**__** note.**_

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* * *

Prompt Set #37 (February 2012)

Show: Above the Law

Title Challenge: Friendship First

* * *

**Hug & Tell**

Emily was cringing with fingers crossed as Hotch lined up the final shot. And then the white ball connected with the black one with a crack . . . and as Hotch had predicted . . . the black ball went flying into the left side pocket. She yelped.

"YES!" She jumped away from the wall to throw her arms around his neck and smack a kiss on his lips for the winning shot, "good job sweetie!"

It wasn't until she was breaking off the kiss . . . and she saw Hotch looking down at her in a somewhat shocked amusement . . . that Emily remembered that they weren't alone in this bar teeming with people. JJ and Will were there with them.

RIGHT there.

Emily winced as she turned around, her hand still on Hotch's chest.

Yeah, okay this was bad. Both sets of eyebrows had hit their respective hairlines . . . and Will's mouth had just started to quiver. Emily's face began to burn.

Shit.

"Ummm . . ."

It was as much as she got out before she felt Hotch's arm slide around her waist. Then he was pulling her against his side. Tucking her close. Her eyes dropped down to the dirty floor.

Maybe she could just melt into it.

"Good game Will," Hotch said as he leaned forward to shake the other man's hand. "Want to go best out of three?"

Though it was on some level quite amusing that Emily had just inadvertently outed their relationship in such a 'boisterous' fashion, he did know that she had very specifically been planning to keep that aspect of their lives private for a few more weeks. Granted, JJ . . . and by extension, Will . . . had 'socialized' with them one or one (or two on two really) in the past just as they were again tonight, so they clearly had a better gauge on their level of off duty 'familiarity' than the others did. And it's quite possible that they did have their suspicions about the true nature of their relationship.

Certainly assessing their behavior from an outsider's perspective, Hotch would have his suspicions.

Now, that said, he and Emily had been careful not to actually do anything that would BLATANTLY give way the fact that they were now sleeping/living together. Which meant no referring to their collective home as 'home,' no on the mouth kissing, no nuzzling of any kind, and the sweethearts/honeys had been off the table since the other couple arrived.

Until now that is.

Now when Emily had just called him sweetie and sucked his face in the corner of the bar. It was actually kind of funny.

It was just so 'Emily.'

But suddenly remembering that Emily's actual reasons for keeping their relationship private, were connected to her cancer, sucked the remaining humor out of the moment.

There was nothing funny about the cancer.

So he just patted Emily's hip as Will nodded and took a step back.

"Uh, yeah, good game man. Let's go again." Will said as he tried to hide his surprise . . . and amusement . . . at Emily's unexpected mauling of Hotch. It was obvious the mauling was accidental . . . and she had worked up some mighty good color since then . . . so he tried to play it cool.

No reason to make her feel more uncomfortable about disclosing a relationship he and JJ had deduced was on the down low.

"Hey, darlin'," Will turned to look at JJ with a raised eyebrow, "do you want to play again this round, or sit this one out?"

Both she and Emily had played the first round. And as to whether his woman was going to play it cool about Emily's behaving like a Price Is Right contestant, well, that was another story. He was guessing not. But either way he was definitely getting an earful on the car ride home.

"Um," JJ bit her lip as her gaze snapped back and forth between her fiancé and her best friend. "I, I uh think I'll sit this one out. I kind of have to go to the bathroom."

Then she focused all of her attention on Emily.

"It's probably a bit sketchy in there," she continued with a soft smile and a jerk of her thumb over her right shoulder, "did you really want to play again now? Or do you want to be my wing lady?"

Though JJ could clearly see that Emily was embarrassed over the inadvertent outing of her relationship with Hotch . . . a relationship that had become obvious to JJ and Will at the Christmas party last month . . . JJ wasn't quite sure why that was. Though she could appreciate that last month things would have most likely still been relatively new, and perhaps they were still settling in together, some weeks had passed now.

It was literally a new month and a new year.

And Hotch was without a doubt, one of the finest men that JJ had ever known. Unlike so many of Emily's previous 'paramours' the man was a real catch. So she couldn't figure out why Emily would be so obviously distressed at them finding out that the two of them were together. At work yes, of course that was one thing.

That was a world with rules.

But . . . JJ felt a little twinge of unexpected hurt . . . this wasn't work. This was just them out alone as friends. They were just having fun. And though JJ knew that she too had been guilty of relationship secret keeping in the past . . . that was a long time ago. And feelings had been hurt by her actions . . . JJ took in Hotch's protective hold around Emily's waist . . . Hotch's feelings in particular had been QUITE hurt by her actions. It had taken some months for things between them to get truly back to normal again.

So she'd rather hoped that they all would have learned from that mistake on her part.

Didn't they trust her to keep their secret?

"Uh," Emily bit her lip as her gaze slowly came up from the floor . . . it locked onto JJ's. And she knew then without a doubt, they weren't just going to the bathroom to pee.

"Okay," she whispered, "sure."

Well . . . she bit back a sigh . . . time to face the music. But, she reminded herself, this conversation was inevitable. They were planning on telling the team about things in a few weeks anyway. So JJ was just getting a sneak preview of conversations to come.

That's all.

Right, that's all. So the real problem was that she just hadn't planned to do this TONIGHT. Tonight was just supposed to be fun, and now there had to be serious talking. So it was messing up Emily's nicely timed little schedule of life events.

And all because she'd screwed up.

Just then she felt Hotch press his lips to her ear.

"It's probably for the best sweetheart."

Then he kissed her cheek, and when she turned to look at him . . . he winked.

And suddenly . . . her stress level began to drop. Because he'd just reminded her . . . this was GOOD news. Hotch, was good news. Hotch was all good. And though she'd wanted to keep their relationship quiet for a reason, it wasn't for the same reason that they were keeping the cancer quiet. That was because the others were going to be upset, and they were going to treat her differently once they found out she was sick.

But this . . . she gave Hotch a soft smile of thanks . . . this was just a matter of simple privacy.

And privacy . . . she let out a breath . . . she could let that go. It ranked right up there with pride on the list of things that were liable to get her riled up for no good reason.

They were luxuries that she couldn't always afford to maintain.

Like tonight.

And realizing then she was already in for a pound, Emily patted Hotch's chest . . . and then leaned up . . . and she kissed him again.

"Back in a ten," she whispered against his lips. Then she turned to JJ with a little smile.

"Let's go."

Hotch watched Emily and JJ walk away, cutting through the crowd as only beautiful women can . . . with heads turning behind them.

But fortunately . . . aside from some bawdy come-ons that Emily responded to with a good natured, "fuck off boys" . . . nobody really bothered them. And more importantly . . . as far as Hotch was concerned anyway . . . everyone kept their hands to themselves.

And seeing that things were going smoothly . . . i.e. he didn't have to go break anybody's face . . . he was just about to turn back to the pool game, when something caught his eye.

His girl had just gotten stopped by Smokey down in front of the bar.

Hotch's jaw hardened slightly.

Though he obviously didn't think that the older man would 'do' anything to the women . . . in fact it was quite the opposite, Hotch had seen in the past how Smokey looked out for Emily's safety . . . he still didn't like the guy.

And he didn't want Emily . . . or JJ for that matter . . . associating with him.

But the women only paused for a few seconds, enough for Hotch to see Emily say something in response to whatever Smokey had just said to her. And then she gestured towards JJ . . . most likely alerting him to yet another 'feeb' onsite . . . before JJ tipped her head in a clear hello. Then they kept walking.

As they disappeared back into the crowd . . . now too far gone for him to keep tracking them . . . Hotch heard Will's drawl from behind him.

"They're fine Hotch. And you do know that when the ladies get to the bathroom, that JJ's goin' to ask Emily about the kissin', right?"

"Yes." Hotch responded drily as he turned around, "yes, I do know that Will, thank you."

Will's lip curved up.

"Just checkin'." Then he paused for a moment before adding slyly, "just so you know, _I_ wasn't goin' to ask."

It was fun . . . and a true rare gem . . . to get to bust Hotch's balls about anything.

"That's good," Hotch continued in the same flat tone, "because that is not a topic up for discussion with me. You can speak to your fiancée later. Now," he walked over to grab the rack off the wall, "let's get some balls on the table."

Realizing that came out slightly more 'gay' than he had intended . . . certainly more GRAPHIC than he had intended . . . Hotch turned back to Will.

"That was a figure of speech."

"Yeah," Will cleared his throat to cover the laugh bubbling up, "yeah, I got that. Thanks though for clarifying that we weren't whippin' out our testicles."

Seeing Hotch's mouth quiver slightly in amusement, Will shot him a toothy grin.

"All right brotha," he bounced his pool cue on the ground, "let's shoot some stick!"

/*/*/*/*/*/*

Emily came out of the stall with the sound of the toilet flushing behind her.

As she crossed across the cracked tile floor and over to the vanities, she saw JJ already standing there washing her hands, while simultaneously giving a slightly hairy eyeball to the woman at the sink next to her.

The woman was wearing a black leather bustier with matching black leather Daisy Duke shorts.

Fortunately she had the body for it.

Though JJ was still clearly non-plussed to see that body being flaunted so openly. But Emily knew JJ well, and as she walked over to turn on her own faucet, she knew that her friend wasn't offended at the show of skin . . . which was oh so plentiful . . . but instead, simply the idiocy of wearing such an outfit in the middle of January.

Which was admittedly pretty stupid.

And as Emily started washing her hands . . . still watching JJ in the mirror . . . her expression softened.

Suddenly she desperately missed the old days. Back in the beginning when she was still fairly new to the team, but after the point where she had started hanging out with JJ and Garcia on random Thursday nights in random bars around the city.

They had so much fun then.

And part of her wished for just one trip in the TARDIS. One trip back to another night, to a time when their scars weren't so deep.

Or so plentiful.

A time before Great Falls, before Colorado . . . New York. Pen's shooting, Gideon's tragedy . . . Reid's abduction.

The cancer.

Just one night to . . . no . . . Emily shook her head slightly as her teeth sunk into her lip . . . no, she was taking back that wish.

It was wasted.

Because as she thought about it, most of those bad days had one thing in common . . . she was alone. No Hotch. No Jack. No family of her own.

Back then Hotch had a different family.

And she wasn't sending him back to Haley for anything. Not even for one night.

So she pushed the melancholy away, reminding herself that she could still get together with her girlfriends. Just later.

After JJ was back at work, and Emily herself was well again. So sometime this summer probably. Summer would be good. She turned off the faucet.

Summer would be good for all of them.

Hearing a shuffling right before the door opened, Emily looked over to see the third woman finally stepping out of the bathroom . . . she had a square of toilet paper impaled on her left spiked heel.

JJ huffed from her side.

"Ordinarily I would have said something about the toilet paper, but serves her right for being stupid enough to wear that in the dead of winter."

Then she turned, her eyes catching Emily's in the mirror.

They stared at each other for a moment before JJ's stance shifted. And then she asked the million dollar question.

"So," she whispered, "are you guys happy?"

Though she wanted to ask her other questions too, why they were hiding it, whether or not they trusted her, she had decided that those were bullshit questions.

Which meant that they were none of her business.

All that really mattered was whether or not they were happy, the rest of it was just curiosity for curiosity's sake.

A bittersweet smile touched Emily's lips . . . she was thinking about the secret that she still wasn't ready to tell. Not tonight anyway.

It would ruin the memory of a good time.

"Yeah," she answered, her voice soft as she swallowed over the lump in her throat, "yeah, we are happy." Then she looked up.

"Are you?"

The question had a hint of surprise to it. Almost like Emily herself wasn't expecting the words to come out of her mouth.

Though as she thought about it, Emily realized that she WASN'T expecting those words to come out of her mouth. She'd been so wrapped up in her own life these last few months, that she hadn't really been giving much in depth thought to anyone else's. Like JJ's.

Like if she and Will had found parenthood had strengthened their bond . . . or weakened it. And was she really happy being at home all the time? Did she really like being a mother?

Or was it harder than she'd expected?

Emily had never asked her these questions before . . . and she was starting to feel rather ashamed about that fact.

She'd been a bad friend.

"Yeah," JJ immediately nodded, "we're really happy. _I'm _happy. I love Will, I l love Henry, and I love being a mom. It's the . . . best."

JJ's voice trailed off at the end, and then she was quiet for a second. And seeing Emily's eyes watching her closely in the mirror . . . she'd noticed the hesitation of course . . . JJ's own eyes unexpectedly began to well up.

"It is hard sometimes though," she added softly as her voice thickened, "I think it's just the post-partum hormones thing."

Seeing Emily's eyes now widening in concern, "oh Jayj," she said as she put her hand on her arm, "why didn't you tell me before?" JJ quickly shook her head as she patted Emily's hand.

"Oh no, it's okay. It's not like a post-partum depression, or," she felt a little shudder go up her spine, "or psychoses, nothing like that. It's not even that serious. It's just sometimes, maybe a couple times a week in the beginning, I'd get really sad for no reason. And then I'd get kind of weepy." She rolled her eyes, "it's more annoying than anything else. But it's getting better. It happens less often now." Her lips curved in a proud smile.

"I haven't cried since last Wednesday."

Okay, that sounded kind of pathetic when said aloud . . . it had only been eight days for Christ's sake . . . still though, she felt less silly when she saw Emily giving her a gentle smile in return for what she'd said.

"That's great hon, really. I'm glad you're feeling better. And if you ever need to talk if you're feeling down or whatever, please don't hesitate to call or text. I'm sorry that I haven't, well," both her smile and voice faded as her gaze dropped for a moment, "I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend. I should have made more of an effort to check on you."

Though getting diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor did count as a 'good' reason for her inadvertent neglect of JJ . . . and before that, the fallout from Montana hadn't exactly been happy fun times . . . Emily still felt kind of shitty now knowing what her friend been going through.

With all of their psych training, she should have seen that possibility coming . . . and she should have called more often to make sure she was okay.

"No, no!" JJ quickly moved to alleviate the guilt she could see on Emily face, "no Em," she patted her friend's back, "I didn't mean it that way. It's just, you know," her arm fell back to her side, "we've all been busy. The phone works both ways. I certainly could have called you more often too. Actually," she huffed slightly, "maybe if I had, then I would have known about you and Hotch earlier."

Okay, where the hell had THAT come from? Not only had she not meant to say those words at all . . . the past on that point was a done deal . . . but she certainly hadn't intended to make them sound like a little dig either.

But she had.

And she could see from the way Emily's eyes snapped back up to hers, that she'd heard the tone there.

And she didn't seem to appreciate it.

But before JJ could apologize, she really hadn't meant anything by it . . . apparently it was just some latent foolish hurt feelings bubbling up . . . Emily's gaze dropped away again. But JJ could still see her reflection in the mirror, the twist of pain on her features. It was just a flitter, but it was enough to make her stomach hurt.

Oh! She'd hurt her feelings!

Just as she opened her mouth to say that she was totally out of line, and that she was sorry for being snarky, Emily cleared her throat.

"Hotch and I have other news besides just getting together," she whispered, "but I don't want to talk about it tonight."

JJ's brow wrinkled.

"What kind of news?"

Emily's expression softened as she stepped away from the sinks.

"The kind that can keep."

Then her expression brightened again as she turned to JJ with a soft smile.

"We are really happy though. Sometimes," her voice caught as tears filled her eyes, "sometimes," she cleared her throat, "I wake up and I think for just a second that it's not real. That I'm just still in this great dream where I got the perfect guy who treats me like a princess. But, it's real. I got my Prince Charming," then she gave JJ a watery smile as she huffed, "he's got the dimples and everything. Just like the book said."

"Oh, Em," JJ's latent hormones kicked up as her own eyes began to water in solidarity, "that's so great." She leaned in to pull her friend into a hug, "I'm so happy for you. And for him." She rubbed her hand along Emily's back.

"You both deserve the best, and that's what you got," then she whispered, "I love you guys. Lots."

"Thanks," Emily smiled into JJ's hair as she squeezed her tight, "we love you too. And even though it's hard for me to admit," she whispered back, "Hotch probably misses you even more than I do. You're his right hand."

Feeling JJ's breath hitch, right before she started crying, Emily held the hug a moment longer, just patting her friend's back. And in that moment she was torn about whether or not she should tell JJ the rest.

Just tell her about the cancer and be done with it.

But then she decided, again, that it would keep. It was just a couple more weeks. And besides . . . she finally loosened her hold and leaned back . . . she didn't want to tell the poor girl such crappy news on her ONE fun night out in weeks.

That would just be a sucky thing to do.

But seeing that she now had JJ full on tears trickling down her cheeks . . . though at least she knew it was happy crying . . . Emily decided to share one more piece of good news.

"Hotch moved in last month." She added with a sniffle as she wiped the makeup she could feel smearing on the corner of her eye.

Given this was the second crying jag tonight, she should probably just wash her face and put it all on again. But unfortunately she didn't even bring so much as a lip gloss with her.

So she'd just have to suck it up.

JJ's watery eyes popped open in shock.

"Really?" She asked in surprise, "oh my God!" She wiped her hand across her face as she sniffed, "Em, that's awesome!"

Wow! She and Will didn't move in together until like a year after they started seeing each other. And Emily and Hotch weren't exactly the impulsive type . . . more like the exact opposite . . . which meant that they were MUCH farther along in their commitment to this relationship than JJ would have dreamed!

"Yeah," Emily's eyes crinkled as she turned to get a paper towel from the dispenser, "it is pretty awesome. It's also pretty much under wraps, so," she turned back to JJ miming a zipper closing over her mouth, "mum's the word for now, k?"

"Of course," JJ nodded firmly as she reached over to grab her own paper towel, "absolutely. That's what I was expecting. And I certainly won't say anything to the team. It's your business. So," she finally changed the subject as she turned to look back in the mirror, "are the guys going to think that we had a total sobby chick fest in here, or what?"

Eh . . . she wet the paper towel and dabbed the corners of her eyes . . . it wasn't too bad. Fortunately they'd gotten the tears under wraps before there was any serious bawling. That would have resulted in eye swelling and nose reddening.

And THAT would have been VERY unattractive.

Emily gave them each the once over in the mirror. Then she smiled.

"I don't think they'll disavow any knowledge of us as their dates." Then she grinned as she bumped JJ's hip.

"We are pretty hot chicks."

"Yeah," JJ burst out laughing as she looked at Emily in the mirror, "they should totally be thanking us for picking them!"

"That's EXACTLY what I'm saying!" Emily agreed as she tossed the paper towel into the trash behind them, "lucky bastards!" Then she looked back at JJ, both of them with their mouths quivering before Emily smiled.

"I've really missed you," then she huffed, "more even than I realized I guess. But you know you kind of accept your new day to day world, and you weren't in it anymore so I had to just deal with that. But," she reached over to pick up JJ's hand, "I don't want to deal with that anymore. I want us to get together at least a couple times a month. You can come to our place if you want to get out of the house. We can have coffee and talk. And if you bring Will then we can do dinner with the families." Emily's eyes crinkled, "I can hog the baby, and you can spend some time with mini-Hotch."

JJ laughed, "Jack? Yeah," she squeezed Emily's hand, "I'd love to see Jack, I haven't seen him since _he_ was a baby. And we'll definitely come over and hang out. I'd love to spend time with your family."

Then her nose wrinkled.

"Sorry," she chuckled, "that sounds so funny. I mean no offense of course, I'm just adjusting to your new status. I'm used to you as a single entity. Not a stepmom in training with a live in partner."

God that did sound weird when she said it out loud. Not that she wasn't happy for Em, she was ecstatic really, it was just going to take some adjusting to.

Same with hanging out with 'off duty' Hotch.

He was VERY different from work Hotch. And she had to imagine him in daddy role was even more of a downshift.

Huh. And now JJ was actually now REALLY looking forward to having dinner at the Hotch/Prentiss abode. It would, she thought with some amusement, be like a sociological experiment.

Seeing Hotch in his natural habitat.

"Yeah," Emily's lip quirked up, "it is a brave new world. Now," she dropped JJ's fingers so she could reach up and fix her tangled blond tresses, "come on," she brushed back a piece of hair sticking to JJ's cheek, "let's get back to the menfolk. I don't like to leave Hotch alone for too long at this place. He tends to get into trouble." She started walking towards the door, "and I can't imagine that Will would really be any better on that front than Hotch is."

Leaving the two of them out there, armed, in a room at least half full of ex-cons, yeah, what could go wrong?

"Right," JJ started out, catching the door Emily was holding open for her, "that is a potential tragedy in the making. Hey, and Em," she called out just as Emily stepped into the corridor.

Emily turned back.

"Yeah."

"Good talk," JJ said with a smile. And Emily grinned.

"Good talk indeed."

/*/*/*/*/*

After the women got back to the table, they spent another hour at Smokey's. The guys finished their best of three with Hotch coming out on top by one game. Will said that he'd get him next time, and Hotch said nothing . . . though he smirked slightly as he handed his stick off to Emily. She discreetly slapped his hand so he quickly schooled the wayward grin.

It wasn't in the spirit of 'good sportsmanship.'

So then he settled against the wall with Will while they watched the girls play two sets alone. That time JJ took the crown. And given that the first game they'd all played together, Will felt that this was vindication for the family name, and declared a tie for the night. And Hotch was having too good a time to be his usually competitive self . . . that self would have pointed out Will lost when he was operating completely on his own . . . so he waved his hand and said, "fine, we'll call it a tie."

And then Emily kissed him and whispered that she was very proud he was being such a big boy about the whole thing.

It took everything in him not to swat her ass as she leaned back with a smirk. But . . . though they might have now put all (okay, _most_) of their cards on the table with JJ and Will . . . Hotch still obviously wasn't THAT comfortable, being THAT loose in front of them. Perhaps he never would be.

But he was willing to give it a shot.

Because it was nice having 'couple friends' to spend time with like regular people did. Not that Hotch was much for 'social gatherings,' but he wasn't immune for the need to have SOME social interaction, and Will and JJ were just the ticket on this front. It might have taken him a little time to warm up to Will initially, but now that he had . . . and he could see for himself just how well he treated JJ . . . Hotch did consider him part of their extended family.

Plus the guy did make him laugh.

So he was actually a little sorry to see the two of them go home. But as the clock rolled towards 9:30 . . . and Big Slim came back to claim his table . . . the foursome headed for the door.

Given that they weren't drinking actual alcohol . . . the girls had stuck with diet sodas . . . and it was really too loud to sit down and just talk conversationally, there wasn't much else to do even just to drag the evening out another ten, fifteen minutes.

Of course they could have taken the women out to the dance floor, but Hotch had noticed Emily trying to hide a series of yawns which had started up a little after nine. She was getting tired.

And that meant it was definitely time to go home.

As they stepped out on the sidewalk in front of the noisy bar, the silence was almost overwhelming.

It was broken a second later by the sound of a siren screaming down the street behind them.

By rote, Hotch noticed that the siren caused them all to automatically reach up to touch their holsters.

Such was the life that they'd chosen to live.

And because of those choices they'd made, Hotch and Emily decided to walk the other couple down to the end of the main block. Four armed was safer than two. So they watched as the others crossed the street and headed farther down to the next light pole.

It was the closest parking that they could find given the time that they'd arrived.

So Hotch and Emily waited to make sure that they got into their car safely, before they waved and turned back to their own just a half block from the bar's entrance.

"So," Hotch whispered as he kissed Emily's temple, "are you just tired, or is there a headache starting too?"

"Just tired," Emily looked up at him with a sleepy smile, "I had a really good time tonight though. I want to have them over for dinner soon. You know," she shrugged as they walked along, "before I start getting too worn down to uh, 'entertain.'"

Feeling a little dig at the reminder those days would be coming before they knew it . . . and that they would linger for months . . . Hotch nodded.

"Okay, let's do it at the end of the month. Maybe that Saturday. We'll have them over for spaghetti, and we can talk about things that aren't work," he patted Emily's stomach, "sound good?"

"Yep," Emily smiled as she flopped her head onto Hotch's chest.

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

_A/N 2: Originally I thought I'd do a bit more of them just all hanging out at the bar, maybe the ladies getting hit on or something, but then I decided the focus for the chapter really was more JJ and Emily's relationship. And just them reconnecting as friends. So, I kind of pushed the other broader thoughts aside and just focused in on the conversation that I thought they needed to have. Because I think even in canon it's realistic that JJ would have been somewhat isolated during her maternity leave, (it was a big deal when she brought the baby in for a visit) so I wanted this redux of The Hours to show them actually spending more time together as normal couples do. At least as much as possible given Emily's sick._

_So the next chapter we'll be back on blueprint. If anyone recalls a trip to the zoo ;)_

_And if you're reading Things We Didn't Plan, this story leads into that one timeframe wise, and writing Will here, (and starting to become quite fond of him and amused at his interactions with Hotch), I'm beginning to feel like a real SHIT for what I did to him over there. So, I MIGHT end up clarifying that other story as an AU offshoot so that Universe A can continue free and clear to be the ONE place where everyone lives and everyone gets their happily ever after. Then I won't have to feel depressed every time I write him in this story. And he will have a few other appearances :)_

_There are a few things on the burner, so I'm not sure where the next update will be. We shall see :) _

_Thanks for the feedback kids!_


	21. Mr Bubble's Big Day

**Author's Note:** Picking up the Sunday after the trip to Smokey's. This was in the original post, but this version ended up completely different, sorta :)

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* * *

_**Mid-January: Sunday Morning **_

**Mr. Bubble's Big Day**

Hotch knocked the dresser drawer shut with his leg, and then began pulling his t-shirt on as he walked over to the walk-in closet.

Though he was just now getting dressed, he'd been up for over an hour. Just before eight he'd had a call from Jordan. The Lincoln, Nebraska P.D. wanted him to review an urgent consult that they'd just emailed to her, so she had immediately forwarded it to him.

She'd finally . . . three months in . . . mostly gotten the hang of her (temporary) position.

The consult was on a series of recent rapes . . . the last of which had been reported just hours before they'd contacted Jordan. The most recent victim was in a coma, and with the level of violence escalating with each attack, they were afraid someone was about to get killed. And after reviewing the files, Hotch had to agree that it did appear '_homicide by blunt force trauma'_ was likely to be the next page . . . the next victim profile . . . to be added to their case file.

And though the detectives there had had some good ideas on a possible suspect pool to focus on, they'd been off in a few areas. Or at least it was Hotch's expert opinion that they were off in a few areas.

And it was his expert opinion that they were seeking.

So he'd written up an addendum to their conclusions about a possible factory worker . . . a deduction they'd made from a type of oil being found on the victims' skin . . . suggesting that they go back to victim number two to narrow the UNSUB pool even further. Hotch believed that the first attack had been primarily a misdirection, that the second attack . . . the one on Ms. Victoria Eames . . . had been the main outlet for the rapist's disturbed fantasies. And Hotch had come to that conclusion because, though Ms. Eames had suffered comparatively little facial trauma . . . unlike the others who had been beaten unconscious against their own headboards . . . thus far she'd been the one to suffer the most egregious of all the sexual violations. Every orifice had been brutalized. And not just brutalized by 'traditional' methods.

Objects had been used as well.

The photos were horrible.

But of course . . . Hotch bit back a sigh as he pulled his sneakers from the closet and dropped them by the door . . . the photos were always horrible. Every case, every victim . . . every time.

And though when he was looking at those photos down in the kitchen as he sipped his coffee, he'd been overcome with the desire to fly out to Nebraska and yank this new monster out from under the bed himself . . . he couldn't. He still had the team grounded. So though he'd wanted to conclude his findings with an offer to get on the jet . . . he didn't.

He was leaving the detectives to fend for themselves.

But he told himself that they'd be fine. That they'd had good ideas, good instincts . . . good forensics. He'd just redirected their efforts slightly. That's all.

They'd pick this UNSUB up in no time.

And as he buckled his belt, Hotch tried to push down the faint tickle of guilt dancing along his spine. That tickle was asking him if he was sure about that. And it was asking if he'd made his final decision not to go wheels up because he TRULY believed that their presence wasn't needed in Lincoln . . . or if it was just because he didn't want to leave Emily.

Really . . . his jaw twitched . . . if not for her being sick, would they be on their way to Nebraska this morning?

He didn't know.

Honestly. He wasn't sure. The arguments could be made . . . and accepted . . . for both decisions. But either way, he knew that things were reaching the point where these determinations should no longer be his alone.

He needed to begin consulting with Dave.

Because Dave could be objective where Hotch himself no longer could be. Which meant that it was now time for Phase Two in the plan that he and Emily had pulled together last month.

The Conversation with the team.

And really, keeping them grounded had only ever been intended to be a temporary measure. Just an in-between step. One to give him and Emily time to adjust to her situation, and work out a routine for her treatments.

That time had now passed.

Because they _had_ adjusted to the situation, and they _did_ have a routine, and it was becoming apparent to Hotch's conscience, that his personal desire to do what was best for Emily . . . his need to stay and take care of her . . . was beginning to (potentially) infringe upon what was best for their work.

Maybe.

There was really no way to be sure about Lincoln. And honestly . . . he took a breath . . . there was really no way to be sure that the L.P.D would have even ACCEPTED his offer to fly out. They could have said thanks for the notes, but we'll handle the rest of this ourselves.

It happened all the time.

So that was why his guilt was presently just a whisper, and not a holler. Because it's not like he'd turned down a request to fly out . . . that would have been an inexcusable breach of duty . . . he just hadn't VOLUNTEERED to go. But it was just the fact that he'd _wanted_ to make the offer, and hadn't, that was causing the whisper. But he would deal with that.

And he would deal with it this week.

Once the others knew what was happening, Hotch would let them fly again. He and Emily would officially shift to temporary desk duty, while Rossi and Morgan took point on the road. It wasn't an ideal way to run things, but this was not an ideal situation. It was a very FUCKED up, situation. And this was the only way to make it work.

So that was the conversation for tonight . . . to tell Emily that it was time for them to pick a day.

And it needed to be a day this week.

But . . . he rolled his shoulders to shake off the encroaching tension over that discussion . . . he didn't need to get into any of that with her now. Now was just getting dressed and out the door.

They were taking Jack to the zoo. And as his son was at his mother's . . . Haley's cousins were visiting so Hotch had agreed to let Jack attend a Brooks family dinner last night . . . they still needed to go pick him up. And the zoo would be packed by noon, so they really needed to get a move on if they wanted to miss the worst of the crowds.

That was his thought as headed back into the bathroom to check on Emily . . . they needed to hurry up.

Though as he stepped through the doorway . . . before he could say anything . . . Emily's gaze caught his in the bathroom mirror.

She smiled.

"Nice shirt," she said with a wink before going back to fixing her blush.

Hotch's lips twitched slightly as he started to walk barefoot across the cold tile. The shirt he had pulled on, was one that he'd recently realized had become Emily's favorite of his.

The Rolling Stones Voodoo Lounge concert tour of 1995.

A few weeks ago she'd found it in the back of his dresser drawer while they were packing up his old apartment. And though he wasn't quite sure what the appeal was of this particular shirt . . . a shirt he only vaguely remembered buying, and probably hadn't worn in a decade . . . it made her happy for some reason. She'd worn it to bed more than once, but she hadn't completely adopted it either.

Not like some of his others.

This one she kept slipping into the front of his dresser drawer. And sensing the hint there . . . that she'd like to see him start wearing it too . . . Hotch had begun trying to work it into the weekend rotation.

It was a bit of an adjustment for him.

It wasn't generally his style . . . he didn't usually wear clothes with 'words' on them . . . but again, she obviously liked the shirt and she clearly wanted him to wear it, so, he was wearing it.

These days anything that put a smile on her face, was reason enough for him to try something new. Hell, putting a smile on her face was reason enough for him to wear the shirt every damn day of the week, but the Stones just really didn't go with his work suits.

And certainly not his ties.

"So," he asked with a little smile while hopping up onto the vanity next to her, "what would you like for breakfast?"

Though he had brewed the coffee when he got up earlier, Hotch had ignored his growling stomach. He wanted to wait and eat with Emily.

Really, he pretty much wanted to do _everything_ with Emily.

And though that was another manifestation of their newfound 'co-dependency,' he still didn't give a fuck. It was more time that they could spend together. And in the end, when things turned bad, that's what everybody always said that they'd wished they'd had.

More time.

Which was why they weren't missing a minute of it now. Later, when she was well again, they would reassess.

For now they'd stay attached at the hip.

"Um," Emily's nose wrinkled as she paused in fixing her eyeliner, "nothing too greasy or heavy. We have a lot of walking. How about just toast and peanut butter?" Her brow inched up slightly.

"S,okay?"

She hated to have her dietary concerns affect his . . . he needed more calories than she did . . . but things had started to not always sit well. And so the standard breakfast foods . . . like eggs for instance . . . tended to make her feel a bit queasy just thinking about them.

Peanut butter though . . . she nodded to herself . . . peanut butter should be safe.

"Yeah," Hotch's lip quirked up slightly, "that sounds good. But maybe you could eat a hard-boiled egg too? We can toss the yolk if you think it might bother you. I'm just thinking that you could probably use a little extra protein to keep up your energy today, right?"

Her diet, in terms of EXACTLY what she ingested every day, was starting to become a point of keen interest for him. In the past he would joke with her about how much she ate. But over the last couple of weeks, her legendary appetite had started to taper off a bit. Not completely, she was certainly still eating, and she was eating without any prodding from him. But given her nausea was increasing with each treatment . . . as they'd been told from the beginning, the effects were cumulative . . . they were becoming more mindful of her diet. But as long as she was still regularly putting solid food in her mouth . . . and keeping most of it down . . . he wasn't too worried on this point.

Not yet anyway.

Though as he saw a faintly melancholy smile touch Emily's lips, he knew that _her_ concerns on this point, were a bit stronger than his.

"Yeah," Emily sighed as her hands fell to the countertop, "you're right. I probably could use the extra protein today."

It was a silly thing to let bother her, but just the fact that she actually did NEED the protein simply to take a walk around the zoo, was a bit depressing. Not like 'curl up in a ball and sob' depressing, but still . . . she dropped the eyeliner into the makeup tray . . . enough to put a slight ache in her stomach. She was only forty for Christ's sake.

This crap wasn't supposed to happen when you're forty.

Seeing the unexpected shift in Emily's eyes, the little sparkle extinguish, Hotch felt a stab of pain in his chest.

He slid off the black slate counter, and down to the tile floor. Then he stepped behind her.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" he asked softly as their nearly matching, dark brown eyes made contact in the mirror, "what's making you sad?"

For a moment Emily just stared up at Hotch . . . and then her eyes began to water. A second later, her gaze fell to the counter and off to the side.

He followed it along.

Both landed on the array of multicolored pills and supplements lined up neatly along the far corner . . . that was the cancer wing of their home.

'_Oh Emily,'_ he thought with a wince. And feeling another stab of pain that this illness was beginning to wear on her so soon, Hotch slipped his arms around her waist.

"We have a sixty year agreement," he continued pointedly while pulling her back against chest, "and you should know, those sixty years have a binding, non-negotiable clause. You're not going anywhere, and neither am I. That's why we have those bottles."

Feeling Hotch's hand slide into her robe right before his fingers pressed against her bare stomach, Emily's watery eyes snapped back up to his.

His expression was soft, but his jaw was set.

He was calling her out.

So she blinked away the moisture in her eyes, and then looked back down at the pills again . . . this time trying to see them as he did. And then she bit her lip.

Aaron saw this lineup of bottles, not as the proof that she was sick . . . but as the proof that she would get well. It was a better, more hopeful, way to see things.

A way that she needed to start seeing them too.

And that also meant . . . she took a shallow breath . . . she should be taking the same approach to these now needed adjustments in her diet. The peanut butter, and the egg whites, and the little packages of dried berries and nuts that Hotch now slipped her for snacks, those were all things that would help to keep her well.

To keep her strong.

And she needed to keep _that_ straight in her head. Otherwise, as the bad days encroached . . . and she knew they were coming, it was inevitable . . . she was going to find her mindset beginning to shift incrementally. Each little setback and adjustment to her world, would begin to weigh like another stone pressing down on her chest. And beating this shitty disease was all about keeping a good attitude. And having good doctors.

And of course . . . she took a deep breath as Hotch's fingers caressed her stomach . . . him.

Hotch was going to be what kept her head on straight when things started to get bad. So when she looked up at him again, her previously subdued reflection was now giving him a bright . . . no longer watery . . . smile.

She turned around, her silk robe slipping open as his arm fell away from her body. Then she leaned up to slide her hands along his chest.

He was wearing the t-shirt. The one that made her so happy.

The one that proved that they were meant to be.

"You're right," she whispered with a soft smile, "those sixty years are binding and non-negotiable. I'm sorry that I forgot for a minute."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips.

"It's okay," he whispered as his lips moved along from her mouth to the curve of her jaw, "I forgive you." And with that action she wrapped her arms around his neck, and his hands slid back under her now open robe.

Then his kisses continued down further still . . . he began to nibble on her neck. And she sighed while angling slightly to give him better access.

Where ever his lips wanted to go, she always adjusted to give him better access.

But then his fingers also started to wander, and as one began to gently caress her right breast, Emily's general contentment, turned to amusement. She grinned against his shoulder.

"We don't have time," she breathed softly.

"Sure we do," Hotch murmured through his kisses, "we just have to put the quick," he nipped a little mark on her collarbone, "into 'quickie.'"

Emily chuckled.

"I admire your stamina honey," she had to bite back a moan as he tweaked her nipple, "but we haven't even had breakfast yet."

"Peanut butter and toast Emily," Hotch whispered in her ear as his left hand slid off her hip and dipped down beneath her cotton underwear, "we can eat it in the car."

"Ohhh," Emily's breath caught as Hotch suddenly cupped her. His touch was firm, and possessive . . . and all of her arguments against this activity, immediately became downright ridiculous.

"Right," she slowly exhaled, "that is such an excellent point."

And she let him expand upon his excellent point for a few minutes longer. And then after she'd gasped against his shoulder, she leaned back slightly to give him a breathless grin.

"All right," she panted while fumbling for his belt, "I want these pants off," she undid the loop, "and us up on this counter giving Mr. Bubble over there a thrill, by the time I count to ten."

She was probably going to need an extra spoonful of peanut butter, but that was all right.

They'd just start buying in bulk.

Hotch burst out laughing.

"Yes, ma'am!" he chuckled as he let go of her hips and started to strip.

"No!" Emily caught Hotch's hand just as he started to pull off his t-shirt, "leave it on." Then she gave him a soft smile, "please. I like it."

Though he might think that she was a little bit nuts for asking him to take his pants off but leave his shirt on . . . and she could tell from his amused brow wrinkle that was the general ballpark of his feelings about her request . . . that was okay. He'd always thought that she was a little bit nuts.

So what was another pistachio for the bowl?

Hotch's hand fell away from his shirt to catch Emily's fingers instead. And seeing the sparkle had returned to her eyes, and knowing he would do anything she asked . . . anything that would keep it there . . . he smiled while leaning in to press another kiss to her mouth.

"As you wish sweetheart," he murmured softly, "as you wish."

Then he pulled back, his eyebrows waggling as he started to hurriedly unzip his pants.

"Now let's give Mr. Bubble that thrill!"

* * *

_A/N 2: The rewrite here sort of meandered a bit off the original blueprint. But that's because I didn't really know how to write a story when I first wrote this :) What was missing there were these thoughts from Hotch on his judgment getting compromised and that it was time to tell the team. That was something that I think was needed. Also, they didn't fool around in the bathroom, but I'd always had her in that robe and it just seemed a waste for Hotch to not cop at least a feel. And then off he went! I actually sliced out almost entirely the dialogue/actions of the original and wrote something different. But oddly enough, the purpose of the chapter, where Emily first starts to falter in her confidence, and Hotch setting her back on course with the purpose of the pills, is exactly the same. Funny how that can go._

_Can't believe we're already on chapter 21, and we're not close to done yet! But if you didn't read the first version, this story is in large part built around, 'day in the life' type chapters, so though they have a bit more heft to them this time around, ultimately there will still be a lot of little pop-ins with them as we go along._

_And you can see we're on the verge of the team conversation. Though it will be this same week in their world, it's only Sunday morning, and there are a couple chapters to go up first (I think just two, haven't checked yet) and then that big milestone will be crossed off their list._

_I have no idea what's going up next in terms of story posts. After three solid weeks of lengthy new chapters, my muse suddenly got twitchy again. I'm just bouncing around, seeing what I can build onto._

_Thanks for the feedback though ;)_


	22. Fez Hats & Firing Pins

**Author's Note**: I KNOW, FINALLY! :) I think I figured out the approach (again, finally) to get around this odd block I keep having reposting this story. I'll explain that at the end.

This is a mashup of two of the original chapters, so elements will seem familiar if you read it the first time.

* * *

_**Monday Night**_

**Fez Hats and Firing Pins**

Emily's eyes popped open.

'_Well, that SUCKED!'_

For a moment after she awoke, Emily lay there, staring across the room and into the shadows by the dresser. She was thinking about her dream. And then she got annoyed thinking about her dream . . . it just wasn't right(!) . . . and rolled her eyes in disgust. Then she turned to look over her shoulder.

She just wanted to make sure that Hotch was still sleeping.

Yep.

So she carefully lifted his arm from where it was wrapped around her waist, inched forward, and slid off the bed. After that she turned back to fix the blankets back around Hotch's shoulders, her lip quirking up when she saw that his hair was mussed up in front.

That was a rebellion that he'd never tolerate if he was conscious.

And though she had the urge to wet her fingers and push it down . . . it just looked wrong for him to be disheveled . . . she resisted, afraid that she might wake him. Instead she blew him a kiss . . . it didn't matter if he was awake to catch it . . . before walking over to pick up her new silk robe from the bench at the end of the bed. She slipped it on over Hotch's white t-shirt, which he'd slipped onto _her_ after they'd made love earlier in the night.

Once she was all wrapped up nice and warm, she turned and padded quietly out of the room.

There was stuff to do.

/*/*/*/*/*

Hotch woke up with a start.

At first he wasn't quite sure why he was awake, but then he noticed that the bed was much too big. And he blinked and yawned, as he felt blindly over to where Emily should have been lying next to him.

But that side of the bed was cool.

Hmm . . . his brow furrowed slightly . . . where had she gone?

And now afraid that she might be feeling sick . . . she'd been fine when they went to bed, but that meant nothing . . . he rolled over and stumbled out of bed.

It was immediately apparent that she wasn't in the bathroom . . . the door was open and it was dark . . . so he after he checked the time (a little after two) he flipped on the lights so he wouldn't trip.

Then he headed downstairs.

A moment later he found himself the bottom of the staircase, staring over in bleary eyed bewilderment, at the love of his life.

'_What the hell was she DOING!?'_

"Emily, what the hell are you DOING?!

It was the middle of the night, and she was sitting at the breakfast bar . . . the majority of which had been covered over with a neatly folded white cloth . . . using a small brush to clean the firing pin of her sig 228.

The rest of the gun parts were neatly spread out in front of her.

Emily tipped her head back to look up at Hotch.

Though he should have still been sleeping, it wasn't really a surprise to see him up. It didn't matter that it was the dead of night. No matter where she went these days, he was never more than a few steps behind her.

It was a comfort.

And in answer to his question, she huffed out a breath.

"I'm cleaning my gun. I had that dream where it jammed. Then I ended up having to break the UNSUB's nose with my elbow, and when I was putting on the cuffs, I realized I'd cracked a nail," she looked down woefully at her pretty French manicure. Probably her last of the season.

"It really sucked."

Hotch stared sleepily down at Emily.

Now her middle of the night OCD made total sense. Because he knew that most people in law enforcement had the 'jammed gun' dream on occasion. And he had also . . . on those occasions where it happened to him . . . then gone immediately off to disassemble his weapon and check the parts. It might have been a ridiculously superstitious act, but it was a superstition that could not be denied.

Your life could _literally,_ depend on it.

And with that thought in mind, as he saw Emily go back to cleaning her firing pin, he crossed over to the downstairs safe where they locked up their service pistols.

The upstairs one was for their personal weapons.

And after he'd punched in the code for the box in front of him, he pulled out his nine millimeter. A weapon which was . . . for all intents . . . virtually identical to Emily's.

He shut the cabinet, and then walked over to place the gun on the corner of her clean white cloth.

"Here," he pulled his arm back with a yawn, "I like a little extra oil on the slide."

Emily smirked.

"Would you like extra starch as well, sir?"

His lips curved in a sleepy smile.

"Surprise me."

Then he bit back another yawn while leaning down to give her a kiss.

"I'm going to lie down on the couch," he murmured as he pulled away, "wake me when you're done, and we'll go back up to bed."

And with that, Emily watched Hotch turn and head down into the living room in his white t-shirt and black and white pin-striped boxers.

After tripping over the ottoman by the end chair, he stumbled the last few feet to the sofa. That's where he collapsed face first down onto the cushion. She pushed herself up slightly to look down at him.

And . . . her lips twitched . . . already asleep.

'_That's my guy,'_ she thought with no small amount of amusement. And with the little smile persisting, Emily shifted her attention back to the firing pin in her hand. But that's when she started thinking about what he'd just done.

Given her his gun.

As a matter of principle, most agents . . . or really anyone who carried a gun professionally . . . wouldn't allow another person to even handle, let alone _clean_, his or her weapon.

Of course with them living together, Emily knew that principle didn't really apply to her and Hotch. Because she'd handled his gun many times in the past year. But mostly that was just when they were tucking them into the safe at the end of the day. She'd only fired it once at the range . . . he was testing a new weight of ammunition and wanted her opinion on it . . . but she'd never cleaned it before.

It never occurred to her that a situation would arise where he'd _let_ her.

But here he just handed it to her out of the blue. Which that meant that he _really _trusted her. Like really, REALLY trusted her.

Really.

Just as she reached over to pick up the oil again, a light bulb suddenly popped in Emily's mind.

Aww . . . she bopped her head back and forth in delight . . . that meant that he really LOVED her! Of course she knew that . . . hell the man freaking adored her(!) . . . but it was always a special little kick when he demonstrated his affection in some new . . . her gaze shifted over to his half hidden form on the couch . . . incredibly sweet way. And only for people like them would an exchange of firearms be a declaratively romantic statement.

But it was.

And with that new bit of warmth settling in her soul, Emily refocused on the task at hand . . . finishing cleaning her weapon so she could move on to his. Fortunately she'd been about half done with her pistol when he stumbled down the stairs. So she was sliding both sigs back into the safe less than an hour later. And after that she went into the downstairs bathroom to wash her hands.

While she was in there washing up , Emily also reluctantly took half of one of her new pain pills. There was a little tickle starting over her temple that she'd learned . . . the hard way . . . that if ignored, would only lead to bad things. Like waking up, sobbing in agony.

Stuff like that.

And with all of the other crap side effects she was dealing with now, not only from the tumor, but also the damn treatment, she was trying to be better about taking the heavy duty pain pills.

If not for herself, than at least for Hotch.

That was her mantra every time she hesitated about picking up the bottle. Do it for Hotch. Because she'd immediately think that back to the night that he'd gotten so angry with her for trying to suck it up, and pretend like she wasn't in agony. Her being in pain hurt him, just as she would suffer if . . . God forbid . . . their positions were reversed.

Which meant that avoiding the narcotics was simply punishing them both for no good reason.

And though she took the half pill without hesitation, she was then suddenly afraid of it upsetting her stomach. That was another delicate balancing act. Trying to keep down her cookies.

Metaphorically speaking.

So when she came out of the bathroom, rather than going down to wake up Hotch, Emily went into the kitchen to make herself a little snack. She settled on a few grapes and some hard cheddar.

Just enough food to coat her stomach.

And as she wandered around the kitchen, popping grapes into her mouth and listening to the love of her life quietly snoring ten feet away, Emily's eyes suddenly caught on said 'love of her life's' recent gift from his son. Her eyes crinkled.

It was a tie.

But not just any tie, the best tie any little boy had ever picked out for his father. It was a wide red polyester with 'dancing mama and baby,' panda bears on it. Both the mamas and the babies were wearing little fez hats and carrying little canes in their paws.

Again . . . Emily's lips twitched as she stared at it dangling off the back of the couch . . . the best tie ever.

Jack had picked it out at the zoo gift shop as his thank you for their trip yesterday morning. She had of course actually paid for it . . . that was while Hotch was getting the car . . . but it was worth every damn penny just to see how happy it had made Jack to find, the "bestest present ever" for his daddy. It had come down to the tie, or a plain black and white panda bear mug.

And she had to admit . . . for Hotch's fashion sake . . . initially she'd been pulling for the mug. But it was a well-established fact . . . a fact oft repeated by Hotch . . . that when it came to the littlest Hotchner, she had ZERO self-control.

And that was true. She could deny Jack nothing.

Or at least nothing to date.

But he'd just been SO excited to buy that hideously tacky tie for his daddy, that she'd let her "how about we get him the coffee mug, sweetie?" die on her tongue. It would have taken the joy out of his little face. And besides that though, if they'd bought the mug . . . at her suggestion . . . then the present really wouldn't have been from Jack.

It would have been from her.

So though she knew that it was God awful, she'd had it wrapped up with a bow before Hotch texted to say that he was double parked out by the front gate.

Jack had made him open the present in the car when they stopped in front of Haley's house . . . and God bless him . . . Hotch somehow managed to keep his smile even as he shook that tacky little swath of polyester out in front of him.

"I love it buddy. It's the best present I ever got."

That's what he'd said . . . and that's when she started to fall in love with him all over again. So after they'd sent Jack scooting up the front walk, and they'd come home for her to take nap . . . walking around the zoo for three hours had completely worn her out . . . Emily had woken up to immediately go dig into her lingerie drawer.

Her plan was to give Hotch a SECOND present, in honor of him being the best daddy ever. And she had . . . it was a sexy red halter top nightie.

She'd slipped it on after her post-dinner bubble bath.

And Hotch had been VERY pleased with his gift. So pleased in fact that she'd ended up setting a personal best for orgasms in one two hour period. Seven.

Hotch was a great gift giver too.

Her lip quirked up as she popped the last bite of cheddar into her mouth.

They really were the perfect couple.

And after she'd chewed and swallowed the cheese . . . and gotten one more sip of water, not too much or she'd be up in an hour to go pee . . . she headed back to the living room.

There she stooped down and brushed her fingers through Hotch's hair.

"Aaron," she pressed her lips to his ear, "come on sweetie, you have to wake up for a minute. Time to go back upstairs."

It took a second . . . a bit of rubbing of his back . . . but then Hotch mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow, right before he turned his head. His face was once again visible.

Though his face did have some crease marks on it.

"Bed?" He mumbled back, his eyes half closed. And she nodded and patted his butt, "yep," she leaned in to kiss his cheek, "bed."

He murmured a "'k," and rolled over, dropping his feet to the area rug.

For a second he sat there, his eyes bleary and unfocused and Emily started to think that maybe she should have just let him keep sleeping on the couch. It was obvious that he was exhausted. But then he blinked, and looked up at her, his lips curving in a sleepy smile.

"I was dreaming about us. Me, you and Jack. We were dancing bears."

She started to laugh.

"Come on, Yogi," she chuckled and hauled him to his feet.

"You can tell me all about it on the way upstairs."

* * *

_A/N 2: And there you go. Originally there was one chapter of them leaving the zoo (Hotch getting that tie, which he HAD to get in the reboot because it comes up later in the story) and then another chapter of her having that dream and waking up to clean their guns. And that one ended with her bopping her head at the trust thing. In total, those TWO chapters, added up to about nine hundreds words :) And THAT (I've discovered) has been my biggest problem on this reboot. In my mind when I'm visualizing the events I've already written, the story seems bigger. But then I got to read over a chapter, thinking I'll just spruce it up, there's NOTHING there! And unlike my other stories, I can't just get an idea and start something from scratch. I have to work in the stuff that already exists. But I did start doing that with the next one already, and then the piece where they tell the team. And of course I'm hoping to be able to get this one into regular rotation again._

___And if you'd like to see Em's red haltertop 'let's seduce Hotch' nightgown, there's a pic on my Tumblr post for this chapter._

_I should have another posting tonight/tomorrow. Just have to read it over. And thank you everyone for your patience (and support) in this long and tedious posting process, everywhere :)_


	23. Playing Hooky Before Hotch Gets A Clue

**Author's Note:** I don't know how long I can keep up this posting streak (I've actually probably ruined it with this sentence) but either way, I think is the best run we've had in a while! :)

Picking up the next morning after their late night. Two chapters from the original post, rolled into one.

* * *

_**Tuesday**_

**Playing Hooky Before Hotch Gets A Clue**

Emily woke up the next morning with a funny feeling in her stomach.

It wasn't that she was nauseous; just . . . her brow wrinkled . . . something felt off.

But it wasn't really anything physical.

So when Hotch rolled over to kiss her good morning, she made sure to give him a bright smile. She didn't want him to worry . . . especially when there really wasn't anything wrong. She felt fine.

Mostly.

Yeah, there was the usual bit of lightheadedness when she sat up . . . but that was normal. For these days anyway.

And she was sure that whatever the thing was that was giving her the funny feeling . . . she turned to swing her feet to the carpet . . . that she'd figure it out soon enough.

/*/*/*/*

"Hey, are you terribly busy today?"

Hotch looked up from his stack of consults to see Emily leaning against his open door.

His eyes crinkled slightly.

"Not _terribly_," his eyebrow inched up, "why? What's up?"

She gave him a wistful smile, her voice was soft.

"I'd like to see the water."

Then she stepped a little farther into the room.

"Do you think that we could do that? Go somewhere?"

Though slipping out of the office to play hooky was practically unheard of . . . okay, _completely_ unheard of, it just wasn't done . . . she still had to ask the question. Because that was the funny feeling that she'd had when she'd woken up.

Claustrophobia.

The walls of her life were suddenly closing in. And she needed to leave this structured world that was boxing her in, she needed to leave it more than anything . . . but she wasn't going to go without him.

For a moment Hotch stared back at Emily, his upper teeth digging into his lower lip. He was mentally reviewing his day. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah," his lip quirked up, "we can do that. Just give me ten minutes to pack a bag."

He only had one scheduled meeting . . . a touch base call with a detective out in Wyoming . . . and he could do that on the road. And though on an ordinary day he would never just suddenly 'take off' in the middle of a work week . . . not even for his Emily . . . they'd left ordinary days behind them.

It had been five weeks since they'd had an ordinary day.

He missed them.

"'K," Emily's eyes crinkled as she whispered back, "thanks hon."

Then she leaned in a little further to blow him a kiss . . . his blinds were closed so nobody could see through the glass . . . and turned to go back down and grab her own stuff from her desk.

By the time they had finished packing their files and laptops, it was a little before ten. Before they left, Hotch poked his head into Dave's office to tell him that he and Emily would be working out of the office for the rest of the day, but that they had their phones. And seeing Dave's confused eyebrow inching up . . . the, _"where are you going?" _. . . about to pop out of his mouth, Hotch turned and hightailed it out of there.

He didn't want to give Rossi the chance to ask the follow-up question.

From there . . . with Emily giving a half wave to Morgan and Reid, who were watching them with the same confusion that Hotch had seen on Dave's face . . . they headed out. It wasn't until they'd actually reached the parking garage, and had climbed into the jeep, that Hotch asked for their specific destination.

After all, technically, water was all around them.

But for reasons that didn't even seem entirely clear to her, Emily decided on Virginia Beach. It was a little bit of a drive, but . . . he put the Cherokee into gear . . . completely doable for a day trip.

So off they went.

And with Hotch making judicious use of both his offensive driving skills . . . and his rather extensive knowledge of the back roads of the Commonwealth . . . they made the three hour drive to Virginia's southeast coast, in just under two and a half hours.

Emily napped half the way.

After they arrived in the city . . . at twelve twenty on the dot . . . Hotch insisted on getting something to eat before they went to the beach itself. So they went to a local restaurant he'd been to before . . . a rape case some years earlier had brought him to the area for a few days . . . and dined on lobster rolls and sweet potato fries. And seeing that Emily was already laughing and joking around before they'd even reached the water itself . . . she'd been in high spirits since she'd woken up from her nap . . . Hotch decided that agreeing to take the day off had already been completely worth it.

Then just as he put his arm up for the check, she suddenly grinned and leaned over to snatch the last fry off of his plate. When she popped it into her mouth and sat back with a smirk, he felt a warmth spreading in his chest . . . remembrance of their early days together last summer, those lunches that had carried their relationship forward . . . he shot her a dimple. And then the other one just for the hell of it.

There was no price on those memories.

/*/*/*/*

Four hours after they left Big Sam's Inlet & Cafe, Emily dropped her case file down into the sand next to her bag. Then she leaned back in her beach chair . . . after lunch Hotch had made a quick run into Target for the chair and couple bottles of water . . . and turned her face towards the sun.

Feeling the warmth of it beat down on her pale winter skin her lip quirked up as she wriggled her toes further into the cool, tawny granules on the beach.

She was feeling very content. Very at peace.

Very happy.

Some people might see that as an unexpected state of being given her diagnosis . . . and the general decline recently in her energy levels . . . but screw that. It had been a good day no matter how anyone cut it, and she was going to enjoy all of her good days . . . and all of her mediocre ones too . . . without making any 'quantification' or deference to the status of her general health. That would be a pathetic way to live.

Really, no way to live at all.

Of course . . . her gaze shifted down . . . she knew that the main reason for her general happiness, and all of her good days, was hunched over . . . sitting on his folded suit jacket . . . in the sand by her feet. And it came as no surprise to Emily that Hotch gave off the same serious . . . and imposing . . . mystique, while sitting and working on the beach, as he did sitting and working in his office. She huffed to herself.

He was just a badass wherever he went.

But then seeing a sudden breeze ruffle the contents of his open file, her eyes crinkled when he smacked his hand down on a crime scene photo that tried to go rogue.

She reached over to tousle his hair.

"Aaron?" She murmured.

Hotch responded with a distracted, "mmmm" as he finished reading the last sentence of his ninth autopsy report that afternoon. Then he looked up to give Emily his full attention.

She deserved no less.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Before she could respond, he reached up to tuck Jack's fire truck blanket more snugly around her waist.

It wasn't very big, but it was the only blanket that they'd had in the jeep.

"Are you getting cold?" He asked with a faintly worried rub of her leg. "Because you know you're usually cold anyway, and it is getting a bit breezy."

Winters in Virginia Beach were warmer than even Washington's . . . which were usually pretty mild themselves . . . but winter was still winter, and the last thing she needed was to catch a chill.

Even as she shook her head, Emily was shooting Hotch a soft smile at his overprotectiveness.

"No, I'm fine hon, thanks." Then she patted her lap, "Jack's blanket is warmer than it looks. I was actually just thinking, and uh," she smiled, "well, I was wondering what your favorite Halloween costume was when you were little?"

For all of the Lightning Rounds that they'd played over the summer, this was one question that had never come up before. But for some reason . . . just as she'd closed her last file . . . it had suddenly popped into her head. Sometimes your brain was funny like that.

The random associations it made.

But seeing one of Hotch's dimples make a fleeting appearance, she knew that the question . . . the weirdness of it . . . was at least providing him some amusement as well.

"Favorite Halloween costume?" He repeated back, "well," he tipped his head slightly to the side, "I believe that was year seven. I went as Ranger Rick."

Seeing Emily's eyes pop out just as her mouth started to open, he raised a hand to cut her off.

"Uh," he shook his head, "I don't want to hear it Prentiss. I had just started Boy Scouts and was going through a wilderness phase." Then he rolled his eyes slightly, "was it _unusual_ that I chose to go as a talking raccoon? Perhaps. But I was seven, and," he finished with a satisfied smirk, "I had a _great _coonskin cap that I'd found at my grandparents' house in Charleston, and really no other way I could wear it."

He then raised an eyebrow, daring her to make fun.

"Your turn." He prompted with another tip of his head.

Emily had been biting her lip at the image of a tiny little suited Hotch . . . essentially Jack . . . wearing a big fur hat on his head. But then seeing challenging look that he was shooting her, she finally lost the battle to stifle her amusement. She erupted in laughter.

"Really Aaron," she snorted, "NO other way you could wear it?! How about you could have gone as Davy Crockett, like," she rolled her eyes, "I don't know, EVERY other red blooded little American boy that's ever owned a raccoon cap! And _my _favorite costume," she pressed her hand to her chest, "Wonder Woman of course." She shot him a grin, "some profiler you are."

Then she shook her head and started laughing again.

"A talking raccoon," she repeated with a chuckle while leaning down to plant a quick kiss on his lips, "God, I love you."

As Emily sat back with a huff, Hotch gave her a soft smile.

Even if she was busting his chops . . . and unjustly disparaging his Ranger Rick outfit . . . it didn't matter. Not a bit. Just hearing the sounds of her laughter carrying on the wind, was enough. And he realized then that he would have happily set up house on that beach, if it meant more days like today.

Perfect days.

But then as Emily brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek, his gaze caught on the fading pink scar on her forehead. That was the remaining physical evidence of her fall last month. The fall that had landed her in the hospital . . . his eyes dropped down to the sand as his smile fell away . . . and them at the radiation clinic five days a week.

Noting from Hotch's pensive stare down to the ground, that some errant thought was distracting him, Emily's remaining amusement faded. Then she squeezed his hand.

"What is it?" She asked softly. And he looked back up with a sad smile.

"The team." He responded in the same tone, "it's time, sweetheart."

This was the conversation that he was going to have with her on Sunday . . . but the day had gotten away from him.

That happened so often now.

Emily bit her cheek.

"I know," she took a breath, her lips curving in the same melancholy smile. "It is time. So," she slowly exhaled, "maybe Thursday we'll invite them all over and tell them this," she squeezed his hand again, "and '_this_," she tapped the side of her skull.

Then she continued with a slow exhale.

"They'll probably figure something's up just by us jointly inviting them to 'my' place. But I don't want to tell them in the office. It wouldn't be right." She sighed, "because I know that if it was one of them that was sick, I wouldn't want to get that kind of news and then be expected to just go back and sit at my desk. It would be cruel."

No matter how you cut it, the conversation was going to suck . . . but it had to be done. More and more often now, she needed to take a nap after work. And even the naps themselves were getting longer.

She was going to have to start cutting back her hours.

Maybe as early as next week.

Feeling an ache starting in his chest . . . reality catching up with them . . . Hotch's brow knitted together as he reached up to tug Emily out of her chair and down into his lap. There he tucked her in close and wrapped his arms around her body.

Jack's blanket was caught under his fingers.

As long as they would be together . . . and hopefully they had decades to go . . . he doubted that he would ever cease to be amazed by her depths of compassion. She was worried about the team. Of course he was worried about the team too, but _he_ wasn't the one that was sick. And as she laid her head onto his shoulder he looked out at the surf.

The tide was starting to roll in.

With a faint burning in his eyes, Hotch tipped his head forward slightly to bury his face in Emily's hair. As he'd hoped, the warm, clean smell of her hair mixed with the salty ocean spray in her loose strands, helped to ward off the looming melancholy. There was no place for that.

No time for that.

Feeling Hotch's chest hitch as he took a breath, Emily knew that his brain had gone to an unhelpful place. Sometimes it was his brain . . . sometimes it was hers . . . but either way they always got through these hiccups together. So she picked up his hand.

"Hey, I'm here," she murmured with a kiss to his fingers, "and I'm okay."

She felt the rumble of laughter in his chest, just before the quiet chuckle into her hair.

"Prentiss the Prognosticator," he huffed.

To that she responded with an unladylike snort of, "and don't you forget it buddy," as she lightly tapped the back of his hand.

Then he tucked her against his chest again, and kissed her cheek. And she knew then that he was better. As always these days, she knew exactly what he was thinking . . . as he did with her.

They were perfectly matched.

Truly.

It had been twenty-three days exactly since their talk in that hospital exam room, but there had been no 'bumps' in the transition from their old life to their new. Everything was the same as before . . . but better. Even living with the cancer, it was still . . . she clutched his fingers to her cheek . . . _so_ much better. In retrospect she supposed that their behavioral training was to be thanked . . . at least in part . . . for helping them along what could have been a very rough patch for a very new relationship. Because on both sides, moods were read easily, and space was given . . . or comfort extended . . . without any need for the usual stops and starts of difficult conversations.

Of course joint behavioral analysis wasn't a magic potion to make a perfect relationship. But all the rest of it . . . forget the cancer, just the regular stuff that could make a relationship hard . . . bureau policies, their streaks of independence and stubbornness, his insistence on buying cinnamon toothpaste, or her belief that ketchup was kept in the refrigerator, those things weren't important anymore.

In the grand scheme few of them really are.

But unlike most people who get bogged down in the life stuff, they didn't have the time to waste on any of the little dramas. And for that . . . and for _only_ that . . . they could thank the cancer. That was their big Drama with a capital D.

So the rest of it was all . . . whatever.

Though . . . she huffed faintly to herself . . . she would almost place hard cash that after Reid heard the news about them living together AND her tumor, that he would tell them that statistically the strain of a serious illness often tore relationships apart.

And that was probably true.

But the numbers went both ways. And in this regard, in _this_ relationship, their numbers were coming up black. That was a blessing. And for that, for Hotch . . . and Jack . . . she would always be grateful without any reservation or quantification. They had a good life.

And that was more than a lot of people could say.

That was the moment that Emily felt a little shiver go down her spine. Not from the thought, but from the breeze. It had really picked up.

It was actually more of a 'wind' now.

She rubbed her hand down Hotch's arm . . . yep, his skin was ice cold. Earlier that afternoon he'd rolled his dress sleeves up, and she could feel goosebumps had formed on his exposed forearm. But that wasn't really a surprise. The temperature had probably dropped ten degrees since they'd first arrived at the beach.

Their shadows were starting to get long.

Emily leaned back so she could see Hotch's face.

"Honey," she patted his cheek, "I think it's time to go. As great as this day has been, and by the way, thank you again for dropping off the radar with me, you're turning into a Hotchcicle. And if you get the sniffles," her lip quirked up, "who will cater to my every whim?"

Hotch's lips twitched.

"No comment."

Then with a groan he wrapped his arm around her waist and stood up, pulling her up off the ground with him. Then he brushed the sand off her suit pants before turning to do the same for his own.

"Okay sweetheart," he slowly exhaled as he straightened up, "grab your boots and Jack's blankie. We roll out in five."

It took everything in her for Emily to not burst out laughing at the convergence of the "Hotch" and "Aaron" personas which resulted in the combination of "blankie" and "roll out" coming from him in the same breath.

So she bit down her laughter by responding in kind with a formal, "yes sir," while popping up on her toes to give him a quick kiss.

_The man was crazy, but the man was hers. _

Hotch winked as Emily pulled away. Then he stooped down to pick up his jacket and zip up his bag. And then he waited while Emily finished pulling on her socks and boots . . . while unsuccessfully trying to avoid getting sand in them . . . and grabbing her own consults off the ground.

As he looked down at her zipping up her own bag, Hotch absentmindedly ran his thumb along the corner of his mouth.

It came back with a smear of orangey gloss on it.

He'd recently learned that color was called "Rapture," and second only to "Flame" as Emily's favorite shade of lipstick. Two months ago Hotch wouldn't have known that those were vitally important facts to possess.

Two month ago he was an idiot.

And as she slid her bag onto her shoulder, he folded up the small beach chair. He hooked it over his own shoulder . . . where his own bag was already hanging . . . for the relatively short walk back to the jeep. Then, once he was ready to go, he turned to ask Emily if she was all set too.

That's when he saw her staring out at the rising tide. The water was creeping up the sand, coming closer and closer with each wave that lapped the beach.

Her hands were on her hips.

He gave her a minute . . . and then one more. Finally he took a breath.

"You ready to go sweetheart?" He asked quietly.

When Emily turned back towards him, the wind caught her hair. A few loose glossy strands whipped across her face just as her lips curved in a soft smile.

"I am."

And she turned and started walking across the sand, kicking aside broken seashells as she went. He quickly caught up . . . and they'd only taken a few more steps on the shifting ground . . . before she reached over to loosely grasp the fingers of his free hand.

She held onto them for the rest of the walk back to the jeep.

A jeep which hadn't looked quite so solitary when they'd parked there at one, but the few other mid-winter beachcombers had started to leave when the temperatures began to fall.

They were the only ones left.

Hotch had just finished storing in the chair in the backseat, when he heard Emily from across the hood.

"I think I'd like to drive back."

In the relative silence of the empty parking area, her sudden words caught him by surprise. He slammed the door shut and his gaze shifted up and over to see her smiling at him.

Her eyes were shining as she tucked her hair back behind her ear. His lip quirked up . . . and he tossed her the keys.

She caught them one handed.

"Then come on Agent Prentiss," his eyes crinkling as he started around the front of the Cherokee, "let's roll."

*/*/*/*

Four hours later, Emily was sitting on the couch drinking a cup of tea and watching a rerun of NCIS. It was one of the few 'popular' shows that she actually watched. Initially Hotch tolerated it with only a few vague grumblings about the implausibility of how quickly their crimes were solved . . . "_really_ Emily, everything wraps up in twenty four hours?" . . . but she'd noticed that lately he was getting into it a bit more.

He seemed to like Gibbs.

Though at present she was watching Gibbs by herself.

They'd arrived home from Virginia Beach around six-thirty. And after dinner . . . a quick fix of spaghetti and formerly frozen meatballs . . . she had decided to take a little nap, and Hotch had decided to throw in a load of laundry. She'd woken up twenty minutes ago, but she hadn't seen him come back yet.

But, oh . . . her eyebrow inched up as she heard the locks turning and then the door opening . . . speak of the devil.

"Hey honey," she put the TV on mute before turning to give him a little smile, "how goes the laundry battle?"

So far laundry was the first . . . and only . . . chore that she'd handed over to him completely. But she'd given in to his request on this point with little pushback. Given that she was now prone to fainting spells . . . the last of which had landed her in the hospital, while she was actually on her way TO the laundry room . . . she felt she'd pushed her luck enough in that area of the building. She had no desire to take another bullet for the laundry room team.

Once was enough.

Hotch walked down the hall with the laundry basket on his hip. When he stopped in front of the couch, he put it down on the hardwood, and picked up something dark from the top of the folded pile. His gaze shifted to hers and his eyes crinkled.

"You had on a red dress."

Emily's face scrunched up as she shifted around and dropped her feet to the floor.

"What?"

Hotch's lip quirked up as he thought back to that night . . . the night had changed his life.

"It was a sundress," he continued softly, "and your hair was pulled back with little curls hanging down on the sides. I could smell peppermint on your breath. And when you tripped, I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling," his eyes crinkled, "because you looked absolutely adorable."

Feeling tears welling in her eyes, Emily's fist clenched on her chest.

Oh . . . she bit down a sob . . . he remembered!

Hotch shook out the item in his hand . . . his black Rolling Stones concert t-shirt. After he'd put in all of the other dark wash, he'd stood there in the laundry room staring at that damn shirt through half the first rinse cycle. He'd been wracking his brain trying to figure out what the significance of it was to Emily.

She couldn't keep her hands off him when he wore it.

Not that he was _complaining_, mind you, but his curiosity about it had been getting the better of him. She really wasn't that into the Stones, even or concerts in general . . . she said they were generally a lot of hassle, and she didn't really like crowds . . . but then his eyes had locked onto the date printed on the shirt. That's when he'd finally registered the significance of this_ particular_ concert tour.

It was the summer of 1995.

The summer that they first met.

That was the year that he'd had his security assignment at her mother's house. And Emily, in all of her beautiful . . . utterly _graceless_ . . . glory, had tripped walking in the front door, and fallen straight into his arms.

It was a moment that he'd thought of time and again over the subsequent years. And seeing then that Emily was about to start crying . . . though they did at least appear to be happy tears . . . he leaned down to give her a kiss.

Then she immediately threw her arms around his neck.

"I can't believe you remember that night too," she sniffled in his ear, "I thought I was the only one."

"Of course I remember," he whispered back. "That's the night I met the love of my life."

Emily sniffled again as she pulled back to give him a watery smile.

"You couldn't have known that then."

His palm came up to cup her jaw.

"Maybe I did know," he winked, "but I just didn't know it yet."

He placed the shirt on the edge of the sofa as he sat down. Then he pulled Emily over into his lap. And with her still sniffling, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"The next day," he continued softly, "I told your mother that when I was leaving, I'd run into a young dark haired woman letting herself into the house. I asked who she was."

When Emily huffed, Hotch gave a lofty explanation for his inquiry.

"Of course it was under the pretext of reviewing the security procedures. I needed to know who had been issued keys to the house."

Emily snorted as she patted his arm where it was wrapped around her waist.

"Hadn't you seen a picture of me by then?"

Funny, her mother had never mentioned any of this to her. Not that she necessarily _would_ have, but God, super adorable FBI agent asks who she was, you'd think her mother would have mentioned it in PASSING!

But then Emily remembered that Hotch was married back then. Very married. So that clearly would not have been an 'acquaintanceship' that the _ambassador_ would have been looking to encourage.

God forbid there was a scandal!

Hotch gave Emily a little squeeze.

"Well," he tipped his head, "yes. Yes, I had seen your picture the afternoon before. And your mother may or may not have busted my balls on that point."

Hearing Emily's faint chuckle, Hotch kissed her temple.

"So," he slowly exhaled, "why didn't you just mention the significance of the date last month, when you first found the shirt?"

Emily smiled as she rubbed her hand up and down Hotch's chest, feeling the vibration of his heart thumping beneath her palm.

"I thought you'd think I was being silly," she answered softly.

Hotch huffed.

"I was a married man back then, _happily_ married, I might add, but I still didn't think that anyone could have looked more beautiful than you did that night."

His gaze dropped down then to see the Emily of a decade later. Her in her faded grey hoodie and pink pajama pants . . . each with the (expected) spaghetti stain on them from dinner. She'd scrubbed off her makeup when they came home and pulled her hair up in a messy ponytail. He nuzzled her throat, hiding his smile as he whispered.

"I was wrong."

* * *

_A/N 2: As mentioned above, originally these were two separate, shorter, chapters. Going to the beach and Hotch getting a clue about the shirt, but they always took place the same day, and in the spirit of moving things along, I jammed them together :) So now, the NEXT one, will be where the team finds out what's going on. And yes, I have been working on that too. I've been working on all kinds of shit this summer! :) We'll get there guys, we just have to stick together ;)_

_Originally the beach chapter (in the original story that is) was a big 'pulse point' chapter. That version of the story was more 'snippets' of day in the life stuff, so the beach was where we really caught up with where things were with them and their relationship. So I sliced most of that out of it (the repetitive elements) and just left a few little bits here and that I didn't think had been covered much (or at all) recently. Just how well Emily felt they had settled in together overall. That was still relevant._

_And Ranger Rick :) he was in the first version, and he is actually a 'plot point' that will come up later, so don't forget the story :)_

_And NCIS, to date, it is the only 'scripted' popular show I have Emily watching. But I could just see Hotch rolling his eyes at it, until he found a kindred spirit in Gibbs. So given that Gibb is fictional here, I guess we won't be doing any NCIS crossovers in the girl'verse :)_

_Thank you for reading everyone! I have NO idea what's going to get updated next. I have more drafts, half assed drafted, but I'm not sure what's closest to done. You might have noticed, I am trying very hard to update as much as possible while my brain is being SO unbelievably cooperative on this front. Fingers crossed kids!_


	24. This Is How The Heart Breaks

**Author's Note: ** Telling the team. I know, FINALLY :)

Another one where the brief skeleton of the original is still here, but it's ten times longer. And this opening segment was once a chapter by itself. But again, in the spirit of moving along, I folded it into the larger disclosure to the team even though the longer version, was a decently long read by itself.

Also, please note, you might want to refresh your memory on the Derek/Reid interactions in the "Big Mama" chapter, otherwise you might miss one of the jokes here. Your choice, no pressure.

* * *

_**Thursday Afternoon**_

**This Is How The Heart Breaks**

"Well," Reid bit his lip as he slumped back against the red diner booth, "personally, I think Emily's pregnant."

Rossi tipped his head appreciatively.

"Hmm, not bad Spencer," then he wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, "now what's your data to back up this conclusion?"

At present the two of them . . . plus Derek . . . were just finishing up lunch at a new diner that had opened down the street from the Academy. They didn't usually all get together mid-day, but at the conclusion of that morning's briefing, Hotch had given Emily a look, and then she'd leaned forward, cleared her throat, and invited them all over to her place that night to, "discuss a personal matter of general importance to the team."

That was it.

And nobody had any idea what the "personal matter" was. And with a mystery like that to solve . . . the _one_ thing that people like them hated to be, was the last one to figure out a case . . . he and Morgan had decided to get together for lunch to "work out the details."

Reid had tagged along.

And his conclusion about the reason for the get together wasn't exactly what Dave himself had come to. He thought that maybe she was taking a short leave of absence . . . it was obvious that she'd been having some lingering physical effects from her fall last month, there had been a lot of doctors' visits . . . but Spencer's theory was a good one too. And Dave was kind of curious to see what Reid might have observed that he had not.

After all, the kid did spend most of his day sitting directly across from the possible 'mother to be.'

"Well," Reid continued thoughtfully while chewing on the corner of a French fry, "she's been looking really tired the past month or so, but worse lately. And I noticed that she's had to run to the bathroom pretty suddenly more than a few times. Just like JJ did. Plus the doctor's visits. I mean I know she had that bad fall, but she didn't break anything. And the stitches that she wants us to think she has to keep getting checked," he rolled his eyes, "they were taken out a WEEK and a half ago!"

Though Reid knew that he'd been a little late to the game in realizing that JJ was pregnant, now that he was "personally" acquainted with which symptoms to watch for, he didn't expect to get fooled again on that front.

And seeing Dave about to say something back, he quickly put his finger up as he thought of something else.

"Oh, and also, Hotch has been getting her lunch like _every _day now. And not just lunch, but really healthy lunches at that."

At Derek's surprised look, Reid shot him one back.

"Yes, Morgan," he huffed, "I noticed. I also profile people's behavior for a living, you know. "_And_," his voice began to rise as he warmed to this other topic, "as long as we're on the topic of 'noticing things,' I have noticed your not so subtle hints about wanting me to pay you back that twenty bucks. And to that I say," he waved his nub of a French fry in Morgan's face, "you'll get your twenty bucks back _after_ you pay me back the THIRTY that you owed me for the gas we got on the Denver case. _You_ took the receipt, so _you_ put in for the reimbursement, and then _I,_" he popped the fry nub into his mouth, "got screwed!"

After staring back at Reid for a moment . . . he'd wanted to knock that French fry right out of his fingers . . . with a grunt and a roll of his eyes, Morgan whipped out his wallet. A second later he slapped down an Andrew Jackson and then an Alexander Hamilton on the shiny white table top.

"Here!" He shoved them over.

"Thank you Derek," Reid accepted his money with a smile, and then he slid the twenty dollar bill back across the table with the tip of his index finger.

"And now there YOU go."

Though he wanted to say something else . . . like why the HELL didn't you say something two weeks ago so I wouldn't have looked like a complete DICKHEAD riding your ass . . . Morgan knew that it was better, at this point, to just keep his damn mouth shut.

The accounts were settled . . . he shook his head . . . it was done.

After watching the exchange between the two younger men, Rossi had to put his hand up to cover his smile. And then he waited until they'd finished jamming their respective bills into their wallets before he cleared his throat to continue the conversation.

"Okay," he coughed, "back to the topic at hand. Those were some sound inferences there Reid. But provided Emily is pregnant, if seems that you're implying that Hotch would be the father, yes?"

Rossi had made his own suppositions about the evolution in their relationship . . . i.e. that they'd FINALLY started sleeping together sometime back . . . but he was still curious to hear somebody else's take on the situation. And though ordinarily he restricted his 'gossiping' (Emily's word) to just discussions with Emily or Hotch themselves, he felt in this instance he'd make an exception.

Independent empirical research and all.

"Um," Reid took a quick sip of Coke before elaborating, "that's kind of a given. Their relationship clearly has been evolving this past year. And again, he's bringing her lunch and taking her to ALL of those doctor's appointments even though before, he hardly ever left the office for any personal business. Plus," he nodded sagely, "I've caught them coming in together eight point five times over the last five weeks."

Seeing the strange looks he was getting . . . and realizing it was the "point five" that was probably causing the confusion . . . Reid hurriedly clarified his last statement.

"The point five was a week from last Thursday when I saw them on the elevator together coming up from the parking garage. It was pretty early, and they were on the same car, but they weren't standing together. Emily was actually talking to some woman I didn't know, so I can't be positive that one wasn't a coincidence."

Huh, Derek thought with a wrinkle of his brow, and _he'd_ caught them coming in together four times. Plus Garcia's six. Derek was impressed.

_Damn Hotch!_

Reid kept running down his list.

"Plus their matching outfits! God, they look like one of those brother sister couples."

Again, noting the peculiar stares he was receiving from his lunch companions, he added a qualifier to his prior statement.

"I didn't know that was a real thing either. Not until last month. That's when Garcia left one of her fashion magazines on the break table and I was flipping through it while I was eating my sandwich. Anyway, they fit the definition to a tee. According to the article anyway," Reid shrugged while polishing off his last fry. "And last point, Emily certainly isn't promiscuous, so if she _is _pregnant, there is no doubt that Hotch would be the father of her baby."

Though he had no proof of the theoretical pregnancy, Reid was really hoping that was Emily's news. From personal experience, he knew that she was a very kind and patient person. Especially with him even after he'd made some terrible social guffaws.

She'd make an excellent mom.

And having spent that last Halloween with Hotch and his son, Spencer already knew that Hotch was a good father. Very attentive and even tempered. So together, Reid was positive that they would make very fine parents. Not to mention the benefits to society if the two of them chose to combine their genetic material.

Their child could very well have an IQ higher than his own.

"Well summarized Dr. Reid," Rossi gave an impressed nod as he perused the check that the waitress had just dropped on the table, "and given these conclusions," he looked up, "what action would you take now?"

Reid's eyes popped as he looked over at Dave in horror.

"ACTION?! Are you _crazy_?! Do you know what Hotch would DO to me if I asked him if he'd gotten Emily PREGNANT?! The man takes me target shooting!" Reid shuddered, "not to mention Emily herself! I haven't completely ruled out having my own children own day. And I'd like for everything to still be in working order if I do decide to procreate."

Rossi's mouth began to quiver, and a quick side eye showed Morgan also trying to hide his smile at Reid's outburst.

The kid had painted a picture.

"Well," Rossi huffed while pulling out his wallet to cover the check, "though I had not envisioned quite such _colorful_ consequences to that disclosure as you had, Spencer, I have also been monitoring their behavior this past month." Rossi gave him a pointed look, "you forgot to mention their unexpected disappearance yesterday. And I have to agree that your theory, as laid out, is the most sound." Then his brow wrinkled.

"Though it's curious, if that is what Emily wants to tell us, that it would have been her announcement alone."

It wasn't like Hotch . . . alpha that he was . . . to let anyone else speak on his behalf if the matter was of 'joint' concern. And obviously a 'theoretical baby' would be his as much his concern as Emily's.

Rossi was interrupted in his musings on that point by Derek's sigh.

"Well, either way," he shrugged, "I guess we'll find out tonight."

Though he'd been leaning towards Em maybe having somehow picked up mono or something . . . the girl looked tired ALL the time . . . given Reid's argument, and the realization that if Emily had caught mono, it was likely Hotch would have as well, and he'd seemed fine . . . Derek was now thinking the kid was probably right about it being a baby.

And that would DEFINITELY be a development that they'd want to discuss _outside_ the office.

As the three men stood up, a stray point in Reid's last comment popped back into Derek's brain. His lips twitched. And as they started walking towards the door, he slipped his arm around Reid's slim shoulders.

"So you're looking to make some little baby Einsteins, huh?" He chuckled.

"Now we're _definitely_ going to have to find you a date."

*/*/*/*/*/

_**Thursday Night**_

Emily fluttered nervously around the living room, fluffing the pillows on the couch and straightening the snack plates she'd set out on the coffee table. Though she had no idea what the 'party etiquette' was in a situation like this . . . the 'how to break news of your illness to friends and family' articles hadn't covered "snacks" . . . it just seemed like she should put _something_ out.

Something besides alcohol.

Hotch was out picking that up.

Given that they were basically a dry household now, their remaining stock had been pretty light. So a couple of bottles of wine . . . a red and a white . . . and one bottle of Dave's favorite scotch (to cover Dave and Morgan) were on his list.

Hopefully that would be enough.

It's not like they wanted anybody to get _wasted _. . . for one thing then they'd have overnight guests and she had clinic in the morning . . . but Emily knew from experience, that she definitely could have used a good stiff drink after she got her diagnoses. And Hotch said that he could have used one too. But unfortunately they'd been in the hospital at the time. And for some reason the medical community frowned upon passing out shots with their diagnoses.

Pity.

But regardless, Emily felt good that offering alcohol up front was the way to go here. Hotch had agreed. And they figured if it looked like anybody in the group was going to be polishing off the bottles, they'd just order a couple of pizzas and make some coffee. That would give one . . . or all . . . of them a few hours to sober up. So THAT point, had at least been ironed out.

The mechanics of the evening.

All the rest of it . . . she paused to rub her stomach nervously . . . that was what was making her anxious. Their plan . . . such as it was . . . was to get everybody (JJ had also been invited over) into the apartment, let them settle in with a drink and a little cheese/cracker/chip plate, and then she'd stand up and . . . and . . . she winced.

Crap.

That's the point where her brain always short circuited on her. The actual 'opening of her mouth and saying the words' point.

It's not that she didn't know _what_ she needed to say . . . "I have cancer," the same three shitty little words that tens of tens of millions of people had had to say before her . . . it was _how_ to say it. And what their response was going to be, that was the big black hole.

And she just didn't know how she was going to fill it.

*/*/*/*/*/

An hour later, Emily was standing in front of her friends and colleagues, sucking on her tongue, trying to work up some saliva.

Her mouth had gone dry.

And given that was not specifically one of the side effects from her various medications, she was figuring that was totally a physiological response to her anxiety.

The moment she'd walked to the front of the living room, her mouth had become the Sahara.

And after a second of trying to work up a little moisture . . . enough to talk without sounding like she was a frog croaking . . . she shot a look over to Hotch standing a few feet away.

She mimed a drinking motion and he quickly picked up her Diet Coke from the window sill where she'd placed it a few minutes before. After he'd handed it over, she took a sip . . . swallowed, trying to knock the lump out of the way in the process . . . and then took another one.

Once she could swallow normally again, she passed it back to him with a little smile.

"Thank you Aaron."

His eyes crinkled as he squeezed her arm, then he stepped back over to the side. His presence up front was for moral support . . . and she could see the others looking curiously at him . . . but they both knew that the news had to come from her.

It was _her_ tumor.

And knowing that she just needed to get it done, she turned to face her little crowd of visitors again. Seven people. Six of whom she counted as her closest friends on the planet. They were all looking at her expectantly, the curiosity on their faces easy to read.

God she _hated_ doing this to them!

But . . . she took a breath . . . it had to be done tonight. And she decided then, that in this instance, with this crew, the ripping off the band aid approach would be best. They wouldn't appreciate equivocation.

It would simply send their naturally inquisitive brains running off to 'solve a mystery,' mode.

So she just blurted it out.

"I have cancer. Specifically, a malignant stage one brain tumor."

There was a lengthy silence after her announcement . . . from her position Emily could see the shock on their faces, it was making her feel sick . . . and then Garcia suddenly choked out.

"_Cancer_?! We all thought you were PREGNANT! I bought you baby booties!" The tears started running down her face, "they're in my bag!"

And after that, she bent over . . . glass of white wine still clutched in her hand . . . gulping back sobs.

Derek was sitting next to her on the couch, and he distractedly tried to comfort her by running his hand along her back, but he too looked terrible. Devastated really.

His eyes had started watering, and Emily could see that they'd locked onto some point on the far wall of the room.

And at that moment Emily felt a creeping sense of horror washing over her. The horror that neither she nor Aaron had anticipated how the team might have COMPLETELY misconstrued the events of the last month! And then she heard a muttered curse from her side.

"Shit."

She blindly reached a hand out to Hotch.

Their fingers locked together.

And that's when Emily noticed that JJ had also started to cry, and that both Reid and Rossi looked pale and shell shocked. Jordan was the only one that still looked relatively, 'put together.' Her initial shock had also been evident, but the emotional breakdown wasn't there. Nor would Emily have expected it.

They weren't friends.

Really, mostly, she just looked exceedingly uncomfortable. It was understandable. And Emily and Hotch had discussed whether or not it was appropriate to tell her at the same time as the others. But she was part of the team too . . . for the moment at least . . . and she had as much right to know about the situation as the others did. Clearly Emily's condition was going to have a dramatic effect on the team dynamic . . . and regardless of their lack of personal 'affection' for the woman . . . there was still no reason to amplify Jordan's feeling of separation, by excluding her from the group discussion. It wouldn't help anyone.

Though it was clear that at that moment, she very much wished to be anywhere _but_ there.

Emily could relate.

She felt like she was going to throw up.

As Hotch grasped onto Emily's hand, he was trying to ruthlessly shove aside the variables on how this could have possibly gone ANY worse.

It _really_ couldn't have! They'd thought she was pregnant, how the FUCK had he missed that one!? Even as '_I have cancer'_ announcements went, this was a COMPLETE disaster! And he knew that he needed to find some way fix it, before they had to break the seal on Emily's still untouched bottle of Ativan.

"SHE'S NOT DYING!" He blurted out, a statement immediately echoed by Emily.

"RIGHT! GUYS, I'M NOT DYING!"

They ended up tripping over each other, but at least the point was made. Or at least they were trying to make it. And he shot her a worried glance . . . she looked terrible . . . as he pulled her a bit closer to his side.

Then he said fuck it, and just dropped her fingers to slip his arm around her waist and give her a squeeze. That was the other announcement anyway. That they were a couple.

Might as well let them get used to that one too.

And as Emily leaned slightly against his side, Hotch looked back over to their friends. He could see the new words trying to sink in, the faint confusion mixing with the existing shock and sadness on their faces. JJ, looking heartbroken . . . a state of being that made Hotch's own heart hurt . . . was the first one to speak. As she looked up at them, he could see there were mascara streaks running down her face.

"Really," she sniffled, "you're not dying? You promise?"

Though it was Emily that she was speaking to, Hotch was the one that responded.

Those black streaks were killing him.

So his arm slipped off of Emily's waist as he crossed the few feet to where JJ was sitting in the end chair. Then he crouched down and squeezed her hand.

"She'll be okay," he whispered with a faint crinkling of his eyes, "_I_ promise."

It wasn't an empty promise . . . it was one that he believed with all of his heart, and the stat backed him up . . . but he would have said the same words regardless of Emily's prognosis.

Because JJ was his Girl Friday.

He loved all of his team . . . Emily most of all of course . . . but he'd had a soft spot for Jennifer Jareau since the morning of her first briefing, when she'd dumped an entire cup of coffee in his lap. She'd turned crimson the moment she'd realized that she was rubbing napkins on her new chief's crotch.

It was a moment of public klutziness worthy of his Emily's best.

And after thirteen years in the bureau it was still one of the few times that Hotch could recall having to bite his cheek to keep from laughing aloud in the office. And flashing of that moment again as he looked up at her tears, he did something that he would ordinarily never do.

He sat down on the corner of the chair, and slipped his arm around her shoulders. And then his gaze shifted back to Emily's . . . she gave them both a watery smile.

"Like Hotch said, I'm going to be fine. And actually," she tipped her head, "though I'm not _pregnant_, and I'm _very_ sorry for that misunderstanding, Hotch and I are involved. That was the other news," her gaze briefly shifted around her downstairs, taking in the subtle additions to her world, "in case you hadn't noticed his things, he's moved in. It's been about six weeks."

Hotch cleared his throat before clarifying, "seven. Seven weeks."

One more week wasn't generally a huge distinction in time, but right now it was. At least to them.

Because every week counted.

"Right," Emily echoed with a smile as their gazes locked, "seven weeks."

When Emily's attention shifted back to the team, she saw that they were starting to come back from the thousand yard stare. Information was being processed. And with JJ and Garcia still quietly sniffling . . . the former still being comforted by Hotch, the latter being comforted by Derek, he continued to absentmindedly rub her back . . . they all turned their eyes to Emily once again.

"So," she took a breath, "like I was saying," she continued with what she hoped was a comforting smile, though her eyes were still a bit moist, "I do have cancer, but the tumor's small, and it's very treatable. Since I was diagnosed, it hasn't spread any further, and it hasn't grown too much. But that's mostly more a result of the radiation treatments that I'm having to shrink it down. And the radiation, in case you're wondering, I started that three weeks ago. This whole first cycle lasts for eight weeks, three days a week and then I'll be re-tested. And at this point," she rubbed her hands together, "fortunately, fingers crossed, it doesn't appear that I'll need chemo. But," she slowly exhaled, "the option is still on the table until the next assessment."

Though Emily could see that the others were still obviously "distraught", they also were clearly relieved at hearing the rest of her news. Brows wrinkling, heads nodding . . . mouths subtly pursing.

Being a profiler did help to read the room.

And they though remained quiet, Emily knew that they needed time to digest what she'd said, so she kept her mouth shut too. She wanted to let them think.

To process.

And then Dave broke the silence.

"How do you feel, honey?" He asked as he leaned forward, "you've looked tired lately but," he smiled sadly, "as Garcia said, most of us thought you were pregnant."

Feeling another batch of tears stinging her eyes at that horrible misunderstanding . . . Garcia bought booties, Christ . . . Emily gave him a sad smile. Because thinking back now on the past few weeks . . . in retrospect . . . she could see how a team of behavioralists might have misinterpreted her exhaustion, Hotch's uncharacteristic attentiveness, and the _inordinate_ amount of time they'd been spending together, as meaning a "blessed event" was on the horizon.

'_Yeah, and it's a pity you didn't think of that an hour ago_,_ Emily_,' she thought with disgust. But she quickly pushed that emotion aside. What's done was done.

So outwardly she just nodded back to Dave.

"I feel good. I mean," she shrugged, "mostly. But when the headaches hit they are bad. Plus," she huffed humorlessly, "there's the nausea and the dizzy spells," she jiggled her head, "those suck. But I have pills for the headaches and the nausea, which," she paused for a millisecond, "have been keeping those symptoms mostly under control."

Hearing Hotch clear his throat, right before he shot her a look, Emily felt a little dig of shame. He'd caught the pause.

And he was right to call her out on it.

The point of this get together was to be honest, her illness was very much going to affect them too. And painting a 'rosy picture' of her condition, wasn't going to help them deal if she suddenly passed out at her desk, or doubled over in agony.

If they weren't prepared, it was just going to make it all the worse.

So she clarified her last point.

"Um," she bit her lip, "Hotch was just reminding me that I should probably elaborate a bit there on my symptoms. Sometimes my nausea, even with my medication, is very severe. Like imagine the worst stomach virus you've ever had, and multiple it by ten. And that, I have to kind of roll with the punches. And as to the _headaches_, though the pills there do help to at least get them under control after one hits, _when_ it hits," she gave them a pained smile, hating the new fear that she could see on their faces, "it's bad. It can be very bad, and it can be very sudden." She clasped her hands together, "but please don't be scared if something happens in the office. I mean, I know it would be upsetting, but Hotch and I have been learning to live with this, and we uh," her gaze shifted to give him a wistful smile, "we have our routines now to handle things. So, bottom line," she coughed, "just get him."

At that point, Emily's throat was once more starting to get dry. But it was more just all the talking, that was doing it. So as she walked over to get drink again, she added the last bit.

The most important bit.

"So cutting to the chase, I'll probably be switching to a flex schedule starting next week. Part time, half days, whatever, we'll see how it goes. The effects of the radiation are cumulative, and that's why I've been looking more and more tired lately. And I've been told to expect that in a few weeks I'll be . . ." she sighed, "well, I won't be able to work anymore. And when it reaches that point, I'll have to take a full leave."

She finished with a small smile of reassurance.

"I know this all really sucks guys, but I promise I'll get better." She gave them a watery smile as her voice started to get thick, "we just have to get through this crappy bit first." So," she sniffed and cleared her throat, "any other questions? Comments?"

And then Reid squeaked out nervously.

"You know statistically in Western Europe they found an increase in divorces after a diagnosis of reproductive canc . . ."

The rest of his words were cut off by Garcia elbowing him sharply in the side.

"_Spencer_," she hissed, "_shhh_!"

And realizing then what he'd said . . . and how horribly inappropriate it was . . . his eyes popped open wide. His hand came up to slap over his mouth.

"Oh Emily," he sputtered, "oh, jeez I'm sorry. That was . . . I didn't mean to," he shook his head, "I'm so sorry. I'm just nervous."

_Good one Spencer! Big dope! _

But it was his damn coping mechanism! Statistics calmed his brain . . . it was just REALLY horrible that was the first cancer statistic that popped into his head!

As Emily remembered back to her thoughts on the beach about Reid's 'statistical relationship' reaction . . . and with that knowledge that she'd at least walked into this thing pegging ONE person correctly . . . she gave him a beatific smile.

"Spencer, if Hotch wasn't here right now, I'd be planting a big wet one on you."

Seeing the perplexed looks from the rest of the team . . . as Spencer's eyes BUGGED out of his face . . . Hotch shook his head as stood up.

"Thank you so much for your restraint, Prentiss," he deadpanned, while walking back over to take her hand again. Then he rolled his eyes good naturedly as she smiled and kissed his cheek.

"I try, sir."

And seeing then that with her unexpected levity, the mood had lightened considerably . . . he could see the others huffing slightly as they shifted in their seats . . . Hotch finished their talk by addressing the more practical matters facing them as a group.

"So you can all see now that this was part of the reason why we've been off rotation, but it really wasn't the primary one to start, we were severely backed up on consults. But now that we're caught up, we need to get back in the field again."

At the affirmative nods around the room, Hotch took a breath.

"I haven't spoken to Strauss about this yet," he continued slowly, his gaze lingering briefly on Jordan, as she was still a fairly unknown quantity, "but I have decided to remove myself from the travel list for the time being. Emily obviously will need to work out of Quantico while she undergoes her treatments, and then she'll be taking her leave. And I'm not . . ." he cleared his throat, "well, I won't be leaving her. At all."

Though he was a bit uncomfortable having to so 'publicly' express his commitment . . . even if these were his friends, he was still a very private man who considered their relationship to be a very private matter . . . he also knew that they needed to understand where he was coming from. That from here on out, Emily was going to come first . . . and last, and every slot in between.

Always.

And feeling her squeeze his hand in support for his public declaration . . . it was probably a bit of a surprise to her that he was so open . . . he took a breath.

And then he finished his thought.

"Anyway, I know that for a little while this will leave you down two agents on the road. But JJ is due back soon . . ."

When Hotch's gaze shifted, JJ nodded and wiped her eye, so he continued.

"And you know that she has extensive field experience assisting with the interviews and dealing with the living victims and the families. So once she's back, I'll keep Jordan on media assignments for a few months beyond the initial rotation. And with the two of them, that should help to fill out the ranks a little. Emily and I will still be available for phone and video consultation on all cases." He tipped his head, "her condition notwithstanding of course." Then he paused, "I know it's not an ideal solution, but," he sighed, "of course none of this is."

Morgan, who had been quiet up to that point, leaned forward. His eyes were slightly red.

"But Hotch, man, what if Strauss won't go for it? I mean you know," he rubbed his hands together, "we're all here one hundred percent for whatever needs to be done to make this work for Emily, and . . ." he tipped his head, "you. But, this is a major breach of procedure. And," he tipped his head, "no disrespect intended, but Strauss isn't really a fan of either of yours."

Hotch's jaw clenched and he was just about to respond when Dave cut in. His voice was soft.

"Don't worry about Strauss," his eyes shot up to Hotch's "I'll take care of her."

Dave had a marker that he'd been carrying on that woman. A marker that he'd been carrying for seventeen years.

It was time to cash it in.

The two men stared at each other for a moment before Hotch tipped his head.

"Thank you," he whispered back.

Dave nodded, and for a moment there was a pregnant pause . . . Jordan broke it by clearing her throat.

"I, uh," she swallowed as she reached down for her bag by her feet, "I'm sorry but I have to be going. I need to meet somebody at eight."

Though she was genuinely sorry that Emily was sick . . . they weren't friends, but of course she would never wish such a terrible thing on anyone . . . and she was planning on doing what she could to help the team with the plan that Hotch had laid out, Jordan knew that she didn't belong there. This was most definitely a family moment . And she knew that as familial relations went in this group . . . she was really more of a distant cousin.

Twice removed.

So after extending her sympathies to Emily . . . and assuring her that she could let herself out . . . she grabbed her coat, hurried down the hall and out the door.

After the front door clicked behind Jordan, Emily looked back around the room.

"So," she gave them a sad smile, "does anybody want another drink?"

/*/*/*/*

Nobody did want another drink. Nobody wanted to stay.

Thank God.

And though Emily felt a little guilty in her reaction when they started shaking their heads and murmuring that they had to go, she couldn't help it. Two days of stress, and twenty plus minutes of actually having to _talk_ about her illness in excruciating detail, had worn her out.

She just wanted to take a bath, go to bed and snuggle up with Hotch.

Maybe they could watch a movie.

But until she got to her nice warm bed, she had to get through the goodbyes. It was a slow trickle of teary emotional hugs for her, and supportive handshakes for Hotch . . . though JJ gave him a hug too. And they both got a "congratulations" from everyone, on them moving in together. And that made Emily very happy. That they were all so supportive of a relationship that meant the world to her.

And she loved them for that.

But all in all, the goodbyes . . . heartfelt and sweet that they were, Dave even whispered to her that she had a blank check from him for anything that her insurance didn't cover . . . were slowly sapping the remainder of her strength. She was so used to tucking her emotions away, they all were . . . and tonight they were all wearing them on their sleeves.

It was hard.

Though she did perk up when she got to JJ, because after she gave her hug, she smiled and asked Emily if she and Hotch would like to finally set a date for that dinner that they'd been planning.

"Absafreakinglutely," was Emily's response.

They both laughed. And then they set it for as close a date as possible . . . Saturday night. Though the location was going to be Emily and Hotch's apartment, JJ insisted they'd cook the meal. She said Will had gotten a smoker for Christmas, and he loved to make his granddaddy's ribs. So they'd bring barbecue and potato salad. Emily smiled, and said fine, her household would provide the dessert.

Then she pulled JJ into a tight hug.

"I love you," she whispered. And she felt Jayj's chest hitch once just before she turned her head and kissed her cheek.

"I love you too Em," JJ whispered back, "lots." Then she pulled away slightly to catch her eyes.

There was a very serious look on her pretty face.

"Anything you need," her voice caught, and she cleared the lump, "_anything_, any time of day, you call me. Okay? You guys don't have to do this by yourselves," a tear slipped down her cheek, "we'll help."

Feeling her own tears start to well up, Emily just nodded back.

"Mmm," she murmured, too afraid to speak.

She didn't trust her voice.

And then JJ pulled her into one last hug before she walked over to get her coat from Hotch. He helped her slip it on, then he patted her back and whispered something in her ear. She nodded.

And smiled.

Then Dave put his hand on the back of her neck . . . and with a final wave from him . . . the two of them walked out.

Garcia and Spencer had left a moment before. Penelope had been clutching Reid's arm.

They were going to go get a drink.

So then it was just Derek left in the apartment. Hotch looked back and forth between the two of them, before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"I need to run upstairs for something."

Really, he just wanted to give the two of them a few minutes of privacy to talk. Hotch knew that Derek was the first friend that she'd made on the team . . . in part because he was the first person that Hotch had regularly partnered her up with . . . and they were still very close. It had been hard for her, emotionally, to try and hide her symptoms from him these last few weeks. Particularly given how upset Morgan was the first day when he saw her stitches after the fall.

He'd been hovering over her at work.

And as Hotch went up the stairs, he could see the two of them staring at each other.

He quickly looked away.

Morgan waited until he heard Hotch's footsteps move off the staircase, and onto the landing, before he walked over and picked up Emily's hands. His eyes were watering.

"Are you guys happy?"

She started to cry . . . leave it to Morgan to be the one to break her.

"Yes," sniffled, "we're very happy."

"Good," he nodded slowly, his voice faint, "that's good. I want that for you. Because you deserve somebody who will be nice to you, and treat you well," he gave her a sad smile, "and I know that Hotch is the one man, probably on the planet, that is worthy of my partner."

When Emily choked down a sob, Morgan blinked and sucked in a breath.

"I just want the best for you, Em. And," his voice started to catch, "I want you to be well. And I'm sure mom's all over this, but, if he has to go out, or just if anything comes up and you guys need help, a ride to an appointment or a run to the store, just ask. And I'll be there."

Another tear ran down Emily's face as she leaned up to put her arms around Derek's neck.

"Thanks hon," she whispered in his ear, "you know you're always my go to guy . . ." Then she squeezed him tight and continued in the same breath, "provided of course," she sniffled, "that I'm fully clothed and have strapped on both my pistol and my chastity belt that day."

She was hoping to get a laugh out of him . . . she didn't want him to leave sad . . . and that she did. A full bodied chuckle as he squeezed her tight.

"I love you girl."

Then he leaned back to flash her a slightly subdued version of his usual Colgate grin. There was a tinge of sadness to it. And that sadness was one thing that Emily knew that she couldn't joke away.

Then he kissed her forehead and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the couch.

Emily followed him down the front hall. And when they got to the door, he turned back with a soft smile and a little squeeze of her fingers.

"Night Em," then he called out a little louder. "Good night Hotch!"

Hotch . . . who had been hovering around their bedroom doorway, far enough away that he couldn't listen to normal conversation . . . started moving back towards the stairs.

"Good night Derek," he yelled, as he started down the steps to the living room.

There hadn't been much he could do upstairs besides start the tub for Emily. A task which needed to be done, but had taken all of fifteen seconds to complete.

For the remaining two and a half minutes, he'd been leaning against the wall, tapping his fingertips anxiously against his thigh.

After she'd placed a kiss on Derek's cheek, Emily gave him a little smile and a wave.

Then she closed the door.

For a second she stood there, staring into it. Then she blinked away the fresh tears and reached up to click the deadbolt.

Hearing Hotch's footsteps coming into the living room, she turned around, slumped back . . . and slid down the steel door to the mat below.

The two of them made eye contact as he stopped in the middle of the hall to look down at her. She could see him eyeing her in that way that only he could.

With enough intensity to burn a hole through your skin.

Hotch stared down, taking in the chalky pallor to Emily's skin and the lines of exhaustion on her face. The evening might have been short, but it had taken a lot out of her.

Too much.

But . . . he sucked in a breath . . . at least it was done.

"Well," he slowly exhaled, "that could have gone better."

Emily pursed her lips together.

"Yes," she nodded slowly, "yes it could have." Then she sighed. "At the very least I should have remembered to put some Kleenex out. I felt bad handing JJ and Garcia store brand paper towels to wipe their faces. Those things are like sandpaper. I hope they don't get a rash." She scrunched up her face.

"You know it's very poor hostessing to send your guests home with a dermatological condition."

Hotch's expression softened.

Though she was trying to deflect . . . to make a joke as she so often did as a means to cope . . . he could see the pain in her eyes. How terrible she felt about the misunderstanding.

The possible pregnancy.

Christ, if only that's what it had been. And someday, maybe next year, hopefully that would be their big news.

But not today.

So today he gave her a small smile as he closed the remaining distance between them. Then he leaned down to pull her off the floor.

"Come on Miss Manners," he took her hand, "bath time."

Then he tugged . . . and she came up to her feet and he pulled her into a hug. Her arms slipped around his waist and he tipped his head down to rest against hers. For almost a minute, they just stood there. And then he felt Emily take a deep breath.

"I think we should make a pie for Saturday. Pecan," she tipped her head back, "it'll go with the southern barbecue."

Hotch's eyes crinkled . . . and life went on.

It had to.

"We could do peach pie too, and get some corn on the cob," he tipped his head as his lips pursed, "and to do it all right, we really need to make some sweet tea."

Emily smiled.

"I like sweet tea."

"Yeah," Hotch pressed his lips to her temple as they turned to start walking down the hall, "yeah, I know you do."

* * *

_A/N 2: Done! Hope it didn't disappoint! I know people have been WAITING for us to finally get here. And I've decided to add a new chapter that wasn't in the original, JJ and Will coming over for dinner that Saturday. The idea popped into my head, and a piece of the visit was pretty clear in my mind, so I'm going to run with it. Though as I recall, I think there's one fairly short Morgan/Hotch chapter that takes place the day after here. I have to dig in the old master :)_

_And I think I have PMS, because writing that Morgan scene, killed me! They had a little convo in the original, but this was a bit more 'heart on his sleeve' than that one was. But I figured based on canon, he'd be pretty rattled, and would open display his vested interest in both her general relationship happiness, and overall health._

_Dave's marker on Strauss is officially Girl canon! This is the third story now where it's worked in. And I still don't think I've said what exactly she did that resulted in her owing him a golden ticket. I'll have to think of a good one._

_Though I'm not a Jordan fan, I think I've said, in this story, she's not horrible. Generally a situation like this would bring out people's better qualities, so I'm letting her not be awful :) Otherwise, we'll have touch base chapters with the others to see how they're dealing (JJ will get the most 'screen time' probably), though the story will primarily continue to focus around HP/Jack and their home life._

_That's all folks. Update on Lonely Hearts is also on tap, just have to proof._

_Thanks everybody!_


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